


untouchable

by sneezefiction



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu is lonely, Atsumu x Reader - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Haikyuu x Reader, M/M, MSBY Black Jackals - Freeform, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, Pining Miya Atsumu, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, Sad Miya Atsumu, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Timeskip Atsumu, on-going series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneezefiction/pseuds/sneezefiction
Summary: an accidental run-in with pro volleyball player, Atsumu Miya, at a 7/11 leads to a strangers-to-lovers situation… but the catch is, you have no idea he’s famous.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Reader, Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 115
Kudos: 454





	1. sweetness at 7/11

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve hit a strange sort of writers block. this is an attempt to be creative & to express my love for Atsumu in the softest way possible. i don’t know how many parts this short series will have, but we’ll just have to see. lets consider this first part the set-up.

7/11 isn’t really much to speak of.

The waft of cigarette smoke from outside the automatic doors and the bright pink of bubblegum on shelves are trademarks of the fluorescent lit convenience store. Some would probably add that the slushies, though underwhelming in flavor selection, are also an important part of the experience. But altogether? Nothing particularly special ever seems to happen at a 7/11.

And to Atsumu, that’s absolutely _perfect_. 

It’s the easiest place to grab a snack and an energy drink after practice without any unwanted attention from the public or the press. An inconspicuous spot to cover his bleached waves with a baseball cap while shielding his identity under a pair of tawny sunglasses. 

It’s not that he particularly _needs_ a disguise when it’s getting close to 1am, but it’s definitely a reasonable precaution. That and maybe a small piece of him hopes that it makes him look a _little_ mysterious. Though, in reality, he’s just another strange, nighttime customer.

But there’s something restful about the stark silence of the corner store. 

Neon lights cast a reflective, sometimes iridescent glow on the gritty asphalt of the parking lot. Regulars and one-time shoppers come in and out without hardly speaking a word. The aisles remain stocked and unchanging. Familiar and emotionless.

And most strikingly of all: no one pays the pro volleyball player any mind there.

It’s a refreshing change of pace for the star setter.

A change that Atsumu hardly _ever_ has the time to relish in.

Because Atsumu doesn’t necessarily mind the fame and brand deals. The roar of his name from an enthusiastic crowd after a perfect serve is electrifying. After parties with the Jackals, complete with rounds of drinks and rosy, bright laughter are sweetly etched into his memory.

And, although he’d humbled a little since his high school years, he’d be lying if he said his ego wasn’t being boosted right and left.

The chaotic, ever-progressing lifestyle seemed to suit the male for a multitude of reasons.

Or at least it _used_ to.

There’s a certain weight that one must carry when labeled, “famous.” 

With fame comes an increase in Instagram followers. People across the globe flood his direct messages on the daily just to express their love for him. Media coverage lays hot and heavy on him whenever and wherever they can. Expectations loom high whilst room for mistakes stays low.

Yes, with fame comes the notion of charm and prestige.

 _However_ , charm is a two-way street.

Sure, Atsumu is handsome. His broad shoulders, that distinct bleach-blond hair, and that lopsided smile of his made that clear enough. Atsumu’s even had his fair share of hookups (ranging from models to fellow athletes) over the years. 

But as his popularity grew, he realized that people saw him differently. Old friends, strangers, and top-fans treated him like a different person.

And not a _good_ different.

Atsumu is no longer the “obnoxious, loud-mouthed Miya-twin,” nor is he a “promising, young high school volleyball player.” And he’s definitely not just “my friend, Atsumu,” anymore. 

No, he’s famous, handsome, star-athlete Atsumu. He’s lost his anonymity. And, with that, he’d lost any semblance privacy.

Meaning that it actually _matters_ what he wears outside of an arena. It’s crucial to curb his tongue, since video cameras could be lurking at any corner. He has to piece himself together every morning knowing that someone might have their eyes on him.

But it doesn’t just effect him. It effects anyone who’s close with him.

Relationships are no longer casual, they’re broadcasted and trending within minutes.

Photos of him with strangers and family members began to circulate without his knowledge. Articles with his name in dark, bold print seemed to always find their way to his email inbox. An Instagram post wasn’t just an Instagram post anymore, it was a declaration of support or an argument waiting to happen.

The truth is, fame has put Atsumu into a bubble.

It’s not all lights and glamour. It’s business. It’s image.

It’s unachievable picture perfection.

He knew what he was signing up for, though. Atsumu was doing what he loved and pursuing a career most people could never have a chance at. He was paid well and had a brilliant team supporting him… 

But fame and publicity means sacrificing some freedoms and almost all of his privacy.

Which was fine at first. But now?

Well, he never knew just how _lonely_ it could get until now. Glaringly lonely. 

A dull pain sinks deeper into day by day.

Because who would ever willingly handle and his lifestyle?

Who could stand up to the drama and the schedules? Who would be willing to put up with the chaos of press and publicity when he struggled enough with it on his own? 

And he’s beginning to think it’s impossible.

To find someone who wants him _that_ much. Because it’s a lot. Fame is a weight that only grows heavier as the years go by.

And, to put it simply, Atsumu has become _untouchable_. Untouchable all in the blink of an eye.

The cheering is no longer enough. Restaurant hopping with his team after a winning game is too dull to make up for his lack of a social life. And as the years begin to pass more quickly, there’s this inkling that his life is fading to the wayside. That something _big_ is missing.

Or maybe... that his life was becoming _too big for him to handle alone._

And that made it insanely difficult to find and maintain a sense of normalcy. 

So 7/11 became a bit of a pattern. An after practice ritual to spark that feeling of normality. A chance to be another nameless human roaming an aisle, even if it wouldn’t last for more than 10 or so minutes.

— 

Atsumu steps into the nearly empty store, his name-brand sneakers making contact with the speckled white tile. He takes a moment to breath, exhaling the cooler air outside and taking in that signature convenience store smell.

But he’s immediately met with a very unfamiliar scent. Something he’s never come across at this frequented location. 

Atsumu pads over to an open aisle to get out of the entrance, but promptly roots himself to a spot, wracking his brain for a description of this scent. It’s not familiar, but it’s homely. It’s soft and sophisticated.

After a moment of contemplation, he comes to the very unimpressive conclusion that this mysterious fragrance is _sweet_. And that he likes it a lot. In terms of comparison, it’s something of a honey-bun, a hot doughnut, or some kind of pastry drizzled with a thin layer of icing sugar.

The thought of this obscure dessert is wholly tantalizing, the intriguing aroma snapping him out of his exhausted state. That preoccupied, faraway look in Atsumu’s warm brown eyes has been exchanged with an intent alertness. 

Because whatever that smell is… well, he _wants_ it. Screw that protein-heavy diet, one doughy, delicious treat won’t set him back _that_ far.

He wanders around, following his nose and peeking around corners for the source of that sugary goodness.

Atsumu ends up shamelessly walking down one side of the store 4 or 5 times. He could’ve sworn it was coming from aisle 2… but it seemed to fade and appear as it pleased. The lack of results begins to grate on his nerves as he paces the length of the small store once again.

“You looking for something?” An older man with sparse grey hair and circular glasses calls out to him from the cash register. He’s short with bushy eyebrows that match the shade of his hair.

The blond frowns, turning his head in the direction of the short man. He could’ve asked the clerk earlier and completely avoided looking like a lost child searching for their mother... but Atsumu guesses that there’s nothing he can do about that now.

“Ya, what’s that sweet thing you’re sellin’? It smells great.” Atsumu says, tone friendly and voice curious.

“Hm?” The man adjusts his glasses, confusion evident on his face, “I’m not quite sure what you mean by that.”

Atsumu huffs and takes the cap off of his head, running a hand through his hair to get some of the volume back. He then proceeds to pull off his glasses and hook them onto one of his pockets. He doesn’t have to, but Atsumu feels he should at least be polite enough to show his face, something his highschool self never would’ve given a second thought to.

“Oh y’know, the thing that smells like doughnuts? The pastries? I dunno what it is, but I’ve been lookin’ for it and can’t find it anywhere.”

The older man just stares and then proceeds to shrug. “I don’t know what to tell ya, kid. I’m not selling anything like that. Help yourself to a cookie or something like that though.” 

He points to the snack aisle and then returns to sorting some crinkling, plastic items behind the desk.

“Oh you’re kiddin’ me right? You’re not tellin’ me you can’t smell whatever that... that doughnut kinda thing is?” Atsumu gapes.

The man looks over his shoulder one more time, “Nah, we just don’t sell that stuff here.” 

Atsumu blinks. He then proceeds to shove his hands into his pockets, mildly frustrated.

“Alright, well… thanks anyways.”

Atsumu slumps his shoulders, but he remembers what he came in here for and begins searching for a sports drink.

Making his way over to the refrigerator section, he stands in front of the products still a little perplexed, but less miffed. His eyes scan the items through the glass. 

Then, opening up the doors, he runs his hands along the bottles, reading the names and determining which flavor sounds the most refreshing tonight.

 _It’s late… so nothing with caffeine. But make sure it contains electrolytes._ Atsumu nods to himself as he spots a light purple drink with a black label. _Berry flavored, it is._

Atsumu grasps the top of the bottle, letting the other drinks clink together as he pulls it out of its spot. He’s holding it lazily in his hand when suddenly...

That smell…

Wait, no.

That _perfume_ is back. 

And this time it’s stronger. It’s nothing like the faint, warm vanilla from earlier and it’s definitely close by.

The blond steps back, closing the glass refrigerator door, and turns his head to the right.

He’s not met with a case of delicious treats nor is he staring at a tray of goodies… 

Atsumu is greeted by a pair of curious, glinting eyes. 

He doesn’t startle easily, but he’d be lying if he said he thought someone else was in the store besides the cashier and himself, so his heart jumps a little at the eye-contact.

— 

You’d been watching him prowl around the store for awhile now and initially you’d taken him for a real creep. 

The tall male kept pacing aisles and you guessed he was trying to stuff something into his hoodie and leave without paying, so you kept tabs on him. 

In a matter of minutes, you have something of a criminal sketch of him in your mind. That might’ve be a little overkill, but you _are_ loyal to this particular 7/11 and the nice man at the front of the store shouldn’t deserve to be stolen from.

But once you overheard the blond questioning the store clerk, you couldn’t help but tune in to their conversation. From what you could glean, he was talking about doughnuts? Or something sweet? There was a hint of exasperation in his voice. 

And he spoke a little _differently_ than your typical Tokyo guy.

Whatever he’s trying to say, you’re adamant that he’s just another weirdo. At least you could rule out the idea of him being a thief. 

You stop watching him and go on your way to pick up the items you initially came for, one hand tucked into your pocket and the other clasping the handles of a shopping basket.

But as luck would have it, this mystery male is standing right in the way of the refrigerated teas... and you aren’t about to leave without getting what you came for, weirdo or not. 

He’s very focused on the nutrients list, you realize, so you wait until he turns around in order to not spook him.

And as he rises from his bent position, finally deciding on a drink, you get a glimpse of his side profile.

He looks a lot nicer with that hat and those glasses off, even if there is a _hint_ of hat hair. But he’s handsome… and actually sort of your type.

You’re also surprised by his posture. Standing straight up, the man looks like one of those models your friends are obsessed with. You can’t say for sure, but you’d bet money that he’s fairly toned under that hoodie and those sweatpants.

So maybe he is a weirdo, but he’s an _attractive_ weirdo.

Before you can speculate any further, his honeycomb colored eyes are set on yours. You don’t mean to, but you almost squirm under his gaze. He had a nice profile, but his stare is… intense.

He examines you for a moment before saying, “It’s you ain’t it?”

It sounds almost accusatory and you can’t help but smile a little at the confusing question.

“What?” You quirk an eyebrow, wondering if you’d done anything strange in the short time you’d caught his eye.

“I mean, I knew something smelled great, but I just… I just didn’t think it would be a _person_.”

Atsumu sighs, running his hand through his hair again, just like he’d done earlier in front of the man at the cash register.

“Geez, and I must’ve sounded real stupid to the guy up front…” He says half to himself, looking away in humoured humiliation. “Whatever.” He snorts and drops his hand from his hair, indifference flooding his features.

Your smile widens by a fraction, eyes lighting up at his accidental… compliment? So he thinks you smell nice... but the way he’d phrased it was so blunt and simultaneously innocent. It was endearingly offhanded, you decide. 

At the same time, you almost want to laugh because you would swear on your life that the fragrance you’re wearing is nothing at all like a doughnut. Though he definitely doesn’t need to hear that right now.

“Ah, yeah I overheard some of that conversation,” You admit as you fiddle with your own jacket, “but hey, at least you found what you were looking for.” You say as you gesture to yourself with one hand.

The handsome stranger glances back over to you, his inquisitive gaze now twinkling with interest.

_Oops._

You can’t tell if that sounded as strange to him as it did to you… but the heat still rises to your face and spreads across your chest and shoulders. You almost let him see your panic, but it fades the moment he opens his mouth.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He gives you a smart grin.

Relief flows over your body like cool water and you shift the basket in the crook of your arm into your hand.

“You seem a little sweeter than what I was searching for in the first place though.” He quips, his smile now twisting into a smirk.

_Oh, so he’s a flirty one?_

“Haha, very funny.” You roll your eyes, your empty hand falling to your hip. “You don’t seem too bad yourself.” You comment, scanning him up and down briefly.

He doesn’t flush like you expected him to, but instead lets out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling a little in the process. A very satisfying sound, in your personal opinion.

It’s becoming apparent to Atsumu that you don’t seem to recognize him at all. Or if you did, you hadn’t said anything. Maybe an introduction was necessary today...

“By the way, the name’s Atsumu Miya… but, uh, my friends call me Atsumu. Yeah.” He explains slowly.

Not his smoothest ‘hello,’ but he’s not really used to telling people who he is these days. People either already know who he is or they don’t care to know in the slightest.

“Well in that case, I’m y/n.” You tilt your head and extend a friendly hand to greet him.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” You question, a flicker of hope dancing across your softened eyes.

His expression falters. 

But it’s only a second before he pulls himself together, responding with a quick, 

“I sure hope so.” And it sounds sincere enough as it is... but he mimics your comment with a quick, “See ya ‘round.”

And with that, Atsumu flashes you another pearly grin. A smile that reaches his eyes. A smile that follows him all the way to the cash register. A smile that doesn’t seem to want to fade for the rest of the night.

— 

A handshake.

It’s a simple thing. Chaste and quick. He did those with interviewers and business men and women. Fans too, if they weren’t already pulling him into a big hug. It was completely normal, especially when meeting someone for the first time.

But, with you, it was different enough that it took him time to register what was happening.

Your hand is warm within his. Warm and a little smaller. He almost gets lost in the feeling before you speak again,

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” 

And his heart sinks like a brick. 

_Would_ he see you around? Were you gonna _look him up_ after you left the store and see him for his public image instead? One glance at his Instagram and surely you’d be intimidated by the male. That or you would speak to him differently. Like he was different.

Or worse, like he was _untouchable_.

But that seems to be his lot in life.

Although, if it were up to him, he would’ve talked to you so much longer. It’s been awhile since he’d had a conversation outside of his family or team. It may not have gotten him anywhere with you, but you were kind... and funny.

— 

Atsumu makes it home and crashes into his unmade bed.

At a time when he usually feels the sleepiest and the most put-out, he can only identify his current emotion as… giddy? Enthusiastic even. 

He’d hate to pin it all on you. To credit you with the softer feelings bubbling in his chest but Atsumu can’t really help it.

Maybe it’s because you’re cute. Maybe it’s because you smell really, _really_ good. Maybe it has something to do with meeting a friendly stranger at his favorite 5 minute getaway spot. Or because he’s been really lonely as of late... 

But when he took your hand earlier, for something as chaste as a handshake... he still couldn’t help but let a feathery feeling overtake him.

There’s a charm to you. A charm that’s entirely different than what he’s used to. Atsumu hadn’t known you before this, but there’s something refreshingly familiar about this interaction.

You’re warm and sweet and the exact person he’d needed tonight. To think that a convenience store could be good for man that snacks and gum. That is could bring about a friendly face and a scent as sweet as sugar.

All things considered, 7/11 might finally be a _little something_ to talk about.


	2. exchanging numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we dig a little further into Atsumu's "loneliness" dilemma... and he somehow finds himself back at 7/11 looking for you.

The early morning sun floods through the bedroom blinds. Sunrays crawl the length of the bed until warm, pale-yellow light meets Atsumu’s eyes. It takes a moment, but soon he’s subconsciously squinting from the invasive brightness. Grasping the edges of the duvet, he buries his head under the covers to avoid the inevitable: waking up.

Sunday’s are Atsumu’s free days.

They’re the one day he doesn’t have mandatory practice or workouts. It’s intentionally left open for social events, friend time, and tinder dates... that is, if he could ever muster up the energy for any of those things. It also happens to be the one day of the week he can sleep-in.

And Atsumu has been trying for months to sleep past 10am… but training has his body clock set to 7am sharp every single morning. The moment the sun meets the horizon, rearing its intrusive head, he’s up and running.

Which is unfortunate, because mornings have become increasingly difficult to handle on these aimless days.

Atsumu grasps and scrunches up the ends of his covers again, getting a feel for the soft, grey fabric in his calloused hands. Knowing that there’s no point in trying to fall back asleep, he moves his legs from their previously dormant spot, shifting them to get his blood flowing. The gears are already turning in his head, so he brings a sleepy hand to his eyes, wiping away the bleariness of long-forgotten dreams.

Then, in a slow motion, he casts open his golden brown eyes, adjusting once again to the sun that is currently dancing across his lashes.

Atsumu’s gaze remains concentrated on the ceiling until, slowly turning his head and pressing his cheek into the dove-white pillow, he drops his arm into the blank space beside him.

The cold sheets absorb the warmth from his forearm.

It’s empty.

A subtle jeer at the current human-shaped cavity in his life. A hole he hasn’t had time or the willpower to fill in the past couple of years.

Atsumu is familiar with one-night stands. He knows weekend jaunts and short-term relationships better than most his age, which is really saying something...

But they always took a lot of stamina and, recently, they only grate on his emotions. Guilt and isolation, something he’d never had to handle before, had sprung up this past year. These feelings haunt him, trailing silently behind him like little ghosts. 

He used to try push those ghosts away from him. He attempted to label it as ‘melancholy’ so that he could move on to the next fast-paced event. So that he wouldn't be swamped by the invisible weight on his shoulder. So that he might 'appear' okay.

Hiding these things, these _ghosts_ , is not simple anymore. And Atsumu knows that more than anyone else possibly could.

It's plain and simple.

Atsumu has _so_ much going for him. So much to look forward to and explore career wise... and yet, simultaneously, Atsumu has lost touch with an entire portion of himself.

He’s neglected a part of himself that tells him that he actually _needs_ others - a fact that he’s denied since he was in his first year of high school. 

And lot of things have changed since high school.

He had, of course, grown quite a bit. Several inches had been tacked onto his height and his muscle mass and tone had increased significantly - adding an extra layer to his aforementioned ‘charm.’ Plus his personality had taken a turn for the better over the past few years, though Osamu might beg to differ.

But a few things remained the same.

 _One_ of those things being the gold speckles in his eyes. They glimmered the moment his irises caught any light, reflecting it with a bright honey-brown. They’d always mirrored his passion and intensity, growing harsh and focused when something caught his attention. His eyes usually shone with power and pride...

But lately there’s been a fogginess to them.

And there’s not much he can do that he hasn’t already tried, to get that fog to fade away.

As his mind wanders off on this thought tangent, Atsumu catches himself gliding his hand through his hair in a not so gentle manner.

It’s a habit he’d picked up about a year ago when that strange fogginess had started to roll in. It was once a simple mannerism, but it slowly turned into an immediate response to stress. Possibly even loneliness? Regardless of why he was doing it, the action gave his hands a small, harmless task to fulfill when his already semi-chaotic mind got ahead of itself… but he's definitely aware of it.

And like hell he’d admit it aloud, but he’d do just about anything for someone else’s hands to be in his hair right now.

Atsumu sits up abruptly, shaking his head a little as if to shoo away the idea.

It’s _way_ too early in the day and this isn’t the time for thoughts like that.

Actually, there was almost never a good time for thoughts like that. He had to keep the momentum going, otherwise this fogginess wasn’t going to stay translucent and misty for long.

It would solidify into something far too real for him to handle. He would have to face himself for what he really felt right now.

Alone.

But who was he to dwell on things that he knew wouldn't change anytime soon? He's a Miya after all. His brother, his grandmother, his father? They're all tough figures in his life. He isn't about to crumble under the weight of something as measly as _loneliness_. 

And with that, he pulls his arm to his side, away from the empty sheets.

Atsumu swings his legs so that they’re hanging off the side of the bed. The mattress dips as his feet meet the chilly wooden floors. He notes that adding a rug might make his room a little more forgiving on his already cold toes and a little softer to the touch.

After finally hopping off the bed and away from the blankets, leaving the warm haven behind, Atsumu steps over to his dresser.

There's a large, rectangular mirror set atop it. He gives his upper body a quick glance, searching for bruises and marks. There's nothing major. Only a couple of purple splotches from when he took a spike to the shoulder. Hinata's spiking power had increased substantially over the past year and Atsumu was paying for it. It's things like this that make the orange-haired kid a brilliant teammate and a pain in the ass. Or the shoulder, in this case.

After inspecting himself, he turns his focus to his hair.

He wished he’d paid more attention to it back in high school, but at least he knew how to care for it now. The relatively soft strands no longer carried a yellowish tinge, but instead glowed a brilliant blonde. Prodding at it, he catches a healthy bit of brown peeking through at the roots. He tussles it.

It was about time he bought some hair-dye for touch-ups. Grocery shopping for hair products is a must today. But not before getting dressed and attempting to redeem the horrific state of his messy kitchen.

He opens a drawer, tugging on one of the silver handles, and picks out a crisp, white t-shirt. Then, pulling a lower handle, he snags a pair of black jeans. Something casual and classy. Usually he’d opt for sweatpants on a slow day like today, but he’s currently wearing his last clean pair… and, well, apparently his standards have changed.

After tossing on his outfit, he makes his way to the kitchen, tired eyes trained on a very important machine.

The espresso maker. A true godsend of an invention.

Caffeination ensues and the dreaded kitchen clean up is short to follow.

Mundane tasks aren’t Atsumu’s thing.

It was custom for him to blare some kind of background music so that he wouldn't fall asleep whilst cleaning out the fridge. But even with the noise, he always felt that these tasks lacked life and energy. He’d much rather be on facetime or, even _more_ preferably, bantering with someone interesting in person… but Atsumu knows better than to distract himself from the job at hand. And the only person who'd be willing to pick up a facetime call right now would be Bokuto... and he's not about to get into a conversation with him. It would never end.

Plus the piling stack of dishes in the sink and that questionable smell coming from the fridge needed his full attention. It was actually starting to scare him. Though, if he’s being completely honest, without the disgusting odor, he would've probably let the mess sit for a while longer. He’s never really been one to clean up after himself.

The rest of the morning and afternoon pass quickly.

Even though Atsumu had vowed to not speak with him today, Bokuto ended up calling him 5 times concerning his gym routine. In doing so, he somehow persuaded Atsumu to start working out with him a few times a week for “motivational purposes” and “to make our Instagram feeds so much cooler.” These multi-hour phone calls with Bokuto, the return of a vacuum to an apartment neighbor, and a couple of online PR meetings with his publicist made time fly.

Atsumu checks his phone for the time: _7:45 pm._

“Shit, when did it get this late?” He mutters.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket. He still had groceries to pick up and getting out of the house might clear his head a little. Without wasting another second, he snags his wallet from the countertop, pats his pants to make sure his keys are in his pocket, and he heads toward the door.

Atsumu slips on a pair of sneakers at the apartment entrance area. Then, examining the coat rack, Atsumu grabs a long, dark jacket instead of his usual hoodie. It's tailor fitted to his broad shoulders, but the sleeves are a little tight. All he can do is sigh.

Although he’s just going on a grocery run, Atsumu makes sure to check himself in his phone camera so that he can smooth down any stray hairs before leaving.

The camera flips awkwardly to his face at an unflattering angle, but he's quick to shift it to his good side.

He stares and sighs. His face looks... _okay_.

Maybe a little more run down than he’d anticipated, but what could he do about that now?

He clicks the 'off' button on his phone and tucks it into his coat pocket. _This’ll just have to do._ And he's out the door.

\---

As he drives away from his apartment, making it a few minutes down the road, he picks up the local 7/11 in his peripheral vision.

And suddenly his mind is back to wandering.

Maybe it shouldn’t, but his thoughts drift on back to you. Your voice seems to echo through his head. He couldn’t quite remember your exact words, but he remembers smiling. Laughing. Feeling a hint of joy - a joy that differed from that of a winning streak or from the pizza delivery guy showing up to his door around dinner time.

You were just a stranger… an acquaintance maybe? Atsumu concludes you’re _a strange acquaintance_ … but you were interesting. Or at least as interesting as one _could_ be to a lonely guy who hasn’t gotten around much in the past year.

It’s been a couple of weeks since he last saw you, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t kept an eye out. 

You’d seemed friendly enough and your face, though now a bit faded in his memory, would still be recognizable if he ever stumbled across your path again. Plus, if you were anywhere nearby, he’s sure you’d be wearing that sweet smelling perfume from the last time he’d caught your eye. 

To put it simply, he was intrigued by the interaction... but not necessarily _hopeful_.

However, the spin of his steering wheel and the direction that this car was turning told a completely different story.

Something inside of him was practically _begging_ for him to take a quick look-see around the shop. Part of it was definitely tied to the sense of security Atsumu felt at the sight of the familiar store… but you’d definitely made it more appealing as of late.

 _Surely_ it wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a few items?

He needed some snacks for his post-workout refuel tomorrow… and Bokuto would probably appreciate a sports drink, since apparently he’s been added to Atsumu’s gym-going equation. At least, this is the reasoning Atsumu is most comfortable with, because stopping by a convenience store based on the hunch that he might run into you was a bit too odd.

He parks his car neatly within the faded white lines of a free space, but before he can unbuckle his seatbelt, Atsumu notices that his hand is combing through his hair again.

Slowly, Atsumu sets his hands on his lap, closing his eyes whilst tilting his head back, and lets out a deep sigh. An exhalation that must have come from six-feet-under, because the breath is barely released before the heaviness he pushes out of his chest sinks right back into his lungs.

 _It’s silly,_ he thinks, _stupid_ that this is what he’s getting up to on his one day off. He wasn’t even sad, Atsumu is just… _tired_. And apparently he’s thinking way too much. High school Atsumu would be kicking him right now for moping around about his current conundrums instead of looking for solutions.

Atsumu chuckles to himself, releasing a little bit of that heavy tension and rolling his eyes at the drama he’s built up within his own mind. He was okay. And he needed to get out of the car anyways.

The automatic doors slide open and, this time, the air he inhales is normal. No doughnut scent. No aromatic cinnamon-dusted pastries. Just Febreze, smoke, and plastic - classic 7/11. And Atsumu can finally breathe in full.

He’s a little disappointed… but at least there was no pressure. Maybe it was just a sign from the universe that he’d harped a little too much on your pretty face.

And the normalcy sets in, so Atsumu shops in peace. Resisting the appeal of potato chips and ramen cups, he heads straight for the protein bars.

But maybe he moved on to the next thought too quickly… maybe he should’ve taken a look around the store before he’d set you aside...

Because with a tap to his shoulder, Atsumu is once again met with your distinctly sweet features and a smile that shines much brighter than he remembers. He’s hardly ever rendered starry-eyed, but you’ve certainly got him in a trance.

He has to do a bit of a double take, but it’s definitely you alright.

“Damn, ya really do have a habit of sneakin’ up on people, don’tcha?” How he didn’t stutter through that sentence is beyond him. Atsumu can already feel the heat rising to his face as he speaks. He just hopes you don’t notice.

“And you seem to have a thing for suspicious outfits.” You quip back, a slight tilt to your head as you take a step back from him giving his clothes a once-over.

Atsumu only gawks, but there’s definitely a hint of playfulness hidden within the following crease of his eyes.

He gestures to his outfit, “ _This?_ This is suspicious?”

You nod, mischief clear on your face, “I mean last time you looked a little sus, but a trench coat? Really?”

He pulls a face at you.

“Awh c’mon, this isn’t a trench coat. It’s just a really… long jacket.” He explains a little too unconvincingly, looking down at his attire and lifting the edges of his coat up.

You give him a look and he visibly softens a little.

“...Okay, so maybe it looks a _little_ like a trench coat, but ya didn’t have to call it suspicious...” He trails off through a pout.

Letting out a soft giggle and apologize, “Yeah, yeah, okay sorry.” But the twinkle in your eye says you really aren’t.

Atsumu hasn’t caught onto it, but the corners of his mouth have turned up into a smile. That strange fluttery feeling is back… and all the two of you can think to do is stare as a weird yet welcome energy flows through aisle 5.

That’s when it hits him.

You’re not wearing that perfume at all. And before he can stop himself, Atsumu is already announcing it aloud.

“You… don’t smell like a bakery today.” He says with furrowed brows.

Your quiet giggle is nothing like your full on laugh. And Atsumu is currently witnessing the difference between the two. Your face might as well be lit up by the sun, because you've just taken on a brightness like nothing he's ever seen before.

Your laughter only lasts a few seconds before you slap a hand over your mouth, but he’s captured by the sound - a noise that’s nothing like a riled-up stadium crowd or a honeyed compliment from a random girl.

Atsumu can’t figure out why your voice, that _laugh_ , sounds so nice, but all he knows is that he misses it already. And a prick of pride in his chest notes that _he_ incited that from you. But he's quick to bury that thought - you're just a pretty stranger. Not his date... not even his friend. It's good to keep his thoughts realistic.

You have to take a deep breath before starting, but you finally speak again.

“Yeah, it’s not something I like to put on every single day…” You ponder for a moment, but you decide to add, “...so sorry to disappoint.” And you shoot him a sincere smile.

“Mm, I’m not disappointed, sweetheart." He's quick to reply, "If anything, I didn’t get my hopes up thinking there’d be a doughnut waiting for me at the checkout counter.” His eyes spark back at you, clearly satisfied with his clever response.

“But hey, I wouldn’t say I _didn’t_ like it.” He tags on, coolly..

Maybe Atsumu is just good with first impressions, but his second impression? It isn't all that bad either. You already feel drawn to his magnetic and bold personality.

“Well maybe I’ll remember to wear it next time.” You comment, briefly looking down to hide your lopsided smile, clutching a little tighter to a small item in your hand. "Since you like it so much, that is."

Those words ring in both of your ears.

_Next time._

What exactly was _that_ supposed to mean? Just like last time, you're adding a hopeful tinge to a playful conversation. It makes Atsumu dizzy, trying to contemplate the fact that someone without a press-manager would willingly see him again.

Why would a complete stranger… or _strange acquaintance_ , as Atsumu now deems you, _say_ something like that? Because that insinuates another run-in. Another ‘accidental’ meeting in this time-forgetting 7/11.

Unless… maybe you _wanted_ to see him elsewhere?

And suddenly he realizes why he was so hung up on your words from a couple of weeks ago. Why your face kept appearing and disappearing from his mind at the strangest times.

And why this idea of being untouchable hurts _so_ badly.

Because he really likes the idea of becoming friends with you. Of getting to _know_ you.

And Atsumu would be content with that, he assures himself. He doesn’t need to drag you into his business… he just wants to hear your voice. And you don’t seem _opposed_ to the idea of seeing his face again.

You two have barely shared more than a couple of short, surface-level conversations, but you have this unmatchable comforting quality. An atmosphere about you that makes Atsumu feel like he’s known you since he was a child.

It wasn’t logical whatsoever, but it certainly was interesting.

Atsumu feels a dizzying mix of embarrassment and confidence… a baffling combination, but maybe it’s what fuels his next few sentences.

“Okay so, feel free to turn me down, but I was wonderin’...”

He pauses.

A hand makes its way to his hair again while he glances over his shoulder. 

It’s as though he’s searching for a sign to stop talking. A sign that would remind him of his current social status and the mess that could come with associating with him. A sign that urges him to consider what he might be getting _you_ into if you were to accept his seemingly harmless offer… But no one is there to tell him this is a bad idea.

It’s just the two of you.

“Can I give ya my number?” He finally gets out.

Your eyes widen a fraction, taken aback but the sudden offer.

His request is _far_ from graceful… if anything, it's abrupt and unexpected. However, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t wishing to run into this Atsumu guy, again. There was something to him you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Something that tells you that he's a little bit like you. A part of you aches to know what _that thing_ is.

He seemed like someone who was good with people and communication. I mean, he’d managed to charm you in a matter of minutes the first time around, even if he was a bit weird. But to go from that to asking if he could give you his number? A number from a particularly charismatic stranger? It was just a bit… out of order. Almost as though this attractive man, who spun comments like candy floss, was actually a bit of a clutz when it came to one-on-one interactions.

But it’s not like he’s asking you out, you reason. He just wants to give you his number. And what’s the harm in that? Things weren’t exactly going too hot for you right now… so maybe getting to know this mysterious individual was exactly what you needed.

A low-key, intriguing 7/11 stranger.

Atsumu opens his mouth to assure you that it’s fine if you don’t want anything to do with him, but he can’t even get a word out before you respond:

“Only if I can give you mine.”

\---

Atsumu finds himself back in bed.

There’s still an empty space to his side. A space big enough for another person. The sheets there are messy and lack volume…

But he doesn’t mind it this time around. Atsumu’s a little too preoccupied by the warmth filling his chest and by the new name in his phone. It’s not often anymore that he comes home with a sense of contentment that sinks deep-down into the pit of his stomach… so he allows himself to feel it in all of its entirety.

He opens his phone one more time, checking his messages and going through a couple of new emails, but before Atsumu sets it back down on his bedside-table, he takes a quick glance at your name in his phone.

_**Contact:** (Y/n) (L/n)_

Suddenly, he’s a little less lonely. And you’re a little bit more real.

High school Atsumu might’ve sneered at these soft, pointless feelings… but he couldn’t care less. Maybe it was time he accepted that he needed people in his life.

Atsumu places the phone screen-side down on the table and promptly tucks himself under the cozy, grey comforter. Sleep gently hovers over him until he’s almost out for good...

But he shoots up in his bed, realizing, “Fuck, I forgot the hair-dye… and the groceries.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i'm trying to build this up a little bit, but i'm curious as to what y'all think? it's a little bit of a slow-burn, but i think that's part of the fun. next chapter with touch on the reader's POV.
> 
> thank you for the interest & for your comments!
> 
> much love,  
> gracie <3
> 
> \---  
> find this work and more on my Tumblr, Sneezefiction: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sneezefiction


	3. to text or not to text

Blue light pours steadily out of the rectangular screen illuminating your face in the midnight black room. 

It was already much later than you’d planned on staying up, but you’ve had something on your mind since last night. Or rather, _someone_. The messaging app is open, a keyboard hovering before your thumbs waiting patiently for the tap of your fingertips.

There are so many ways to type out a hello… but instead you find yourself staring blankly at Atsumu’s contact. The visual before you is merely static - an empty, open text page. However you can’t seem to shift your eyes away from the phone. They glue themselves to the letters of his name against your better judgement.

 _But_ , your sigh to yourself, you suppose _everything_ goes against your better judgement nowadays.

And who could blame you? This hasn’t really been your year.

Nor would you consider either of the 2 years prior to this one ‘your year.’

You’d had the unfortunate fate of becoming close friends with rejection. The acrid tang of dismissal was not a foreign taste to your tongue. It had found its way to your doorstep ever since you had set foot into this dingy, city flat.

It all began with your initial move a few years back. 

Leaving behind your home base, your friends and loved ones, was already enough to bitterly burn at the back of your throat and to prick tears at the corner of your eyes for months on end. You’d left your home, your _life_ , with the intention of accepting a job offer.

Ah, yes, the job offer that got _rescinded_ only 2 days after you’d moved in and signed the leasing contract. You reckon that it must be your fault for not doing enough background research on the company because, apparently, it had always been somewhat financially… imbalanced. They offered you a job when they were already on the verge of a company-wide fiscal crisis. It was something so outlandish that, if you hadn’t been the one suffering at the end of it all, you would have laughed hysterically at the idea.

But it was real, alright.

You’d been steamrolled, crushed by unfortunate circumstances, as a welcome into your new home. If it weren’t for your stubborn nature and that unfounded air of positivity surrounding you, you probably would’ve given up and moved back within that first week.

However, as the universe mercifully had it, that dream job wasn’t the only offer on the table.

So you’ve found yourself settled into a less ideal office situation, shuffling around supplies, flicking through notes, and editing long, wordy papers. You go home most nights with a headache and tired, dry eyes. Your mind is numb and there are still emails to send out from your home computer... 

But it’s a hell of a lot better than being jobless though and you _are_ earning a salary that you never could have made back at home. So there is that. 

However, this job isn’t the only thing keeping you on your toes.

There was the dating scene.

 _Oh_ the _dating scene._

You hadn’t moved to Tokyo to experience the rosy glow of romance.

Feather soft emotions weren’t something you anticipated penciling in on your calendar, especially when you were working your ass off at a job that you simply couldn’t see yourself loving. And besides the occasional cutie who might cross your path, you simply planned for dating to be casual within this first year of your new life… yet somehow, in the virtually _infinite_ and _drawling_ span of 3 years, you had scored yourself a whopping **zero** dates. Or at least _successful_ dates.

That first year passed by quickly.

You didn’t pay much mind to possible partners or nights out because getting on your feet was all that mattered at the time - not finding a boyfriend was still the least of your problems.

But two years in and no bites? Not a single catch? You tried blind dates set up by friends back home who “knew a guy” and dating apps, but it either ended in awkward shuffling or, occasionally, in tears. These ‘men’ had you dragging yourself back home with your tail between your legs wishing you hadn’t left your bed in the first place. You knew guys could be douchebags… but this was starting to feel very pointed. Like fate itself was telling you to just ‘give up already.’

Relationships and coffee outings weren’t meant to leave you drained and questioning every life decision you’ve ever made, so you found yourself finding solace in a Netflix binge instead of a wasted Friday evening with a shitty guy.

But, it at the beginning of your third year, _this_ year, in this **abyss** of a city, you finally found someone. 

Someone to fill your time on the weekends. To show you around this city that seemed more like purgatory than a home. A person who filled your lungs up with much needed fresh air. You met him through a co-worker at an after work party one night and, for the first time in months, you caught yourself laughing. Laughing loudly from the deepest part of your belly.

Kenji Izumi wasn’t tall or broad. Not much of a talker either.

And besides that one gorgeous grey scarf that wrapped itself loosely around his neck, his wardrobe (style in general) wasn’t all too astounding either. 

To put it bluntly, he wasn’t anything special. 

This man wasn’t someone you intentionally gave a second glance to… but his eyes were breathtakingly kind. Filled with enough warmth to melt a mid-January snowfall. And _man,_ when he did speak? Damn was he _witty_.  


This stranger-turned-friend made the city less lonely. He saw your frustration and made you feel seen. Took you under his wing and flew you to a mental space that you can only begin to describe as safe. Known. You finally had someone.

And for the first half of this year you found yourself falling in love. Falling for this second glance of a man.

So finding out that Kenji had a partner was a punch to the gut. Reaching out for his hand that summer was a defining moment for you. The way he pulled his hand back to his side skittishly could have knocked the air out of your lungs if you’d had any breath to spare.

You both tried to salvage things, but his visits were cut short after that until, eventually, he faded from your mind.

To say you were in pain would be the understatement of the decade and trying to make light of it would only drive the dagger of rejection deeper into you.

Though initially you’d entered this big city with colorful plans and bright hues dripping off the palm of your hand, the world chose to turn the life you were painting into a bleak, inky picture. Friends and social life? Covered up with a brush of white, opaque paint. That dream job? Marred by a stroke of envious, empty green. Your relationship status? Let’s just call that a masterpiece of its own; a glaringly blank canvas from another piercing rejection.

But you’ve made it through so far. Though you’re a little dented, scratched, and relatively wounded… it really could have been worse.

Your _dignity_ , your _privacy_ , and _peace_ were all still intact - and for that, you could be proud.

But as you stare at your phone, at this blondie’s number, you can’t help but be reminded of every nasty twist the past few years have thrown at you. Dread drips into your body to the point where it almost feels physical. It pools and puddles in the spaces between your ribs as you contemplate this tall guy from 7/11.

Atsumu…

Atsumu was a curious guy, you admit. Curious and sweet, all with a good sense of style, though you’d teased him for it. And it wasn’t as though you were looking to spark a conversation with anyone... but he’d been so _willing_ to speak.

 _And_ he’d offered you his number, which was a bit unorthodox in its own way.

First of all, you usually ask the other person for _their_ number. Even on numerous failed dates, you were at least familiar with these customary motions.

Second, he’d actually held a conversation with you _after_ you’d put your number in his phone.

\---

_“So, you come here often?” He flashed you another grin._

_There’s a knowing look in his eyes. Atsumu is aware of how overused that line is… and the humor in his eyes makes you light up a little inside._

_“You should know that much by now.”_

_“Yeah? I’ve only seen ya twice sweetheart.” He replies matter of factly._

_Adjusting your shirt a little, you mumble out, “Fair point.” You squint and ask him the same thing,_

_“How ‘bout yourself? You don’t exactly seem like the type to hang out around 7/11’s.”_

_And he glances around at that, placing a hand in one of his pockets and using the other to brush a wave of hair behind his ear. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Atsumu bites his lip, “Can’t a guy just enjoy a slushy?”_

_“Hmmm…”_

_“Okay what’s ‘hmmm’ supposed to mean?” He glares… but there’s intrigue behind his eyes._

_You pause, examining him. Your eyes scan his coat, the sunglasses poking out of his coat pocket, his shoes... He’s well kept. Polished, almost. He had gel in his hair and a smile that rivaled that of a Colgate toothpaste representative.You even recognized at least one expensive brand and you wouldn’t be surprised if those glasses were some costly Ray-Bans._

_He breaks into your thoughts, “Checkin’ me out, babe?” Leaning in a little to mess with you._

_You feel yourself flush, but you’re quick in your response. “Nah.” You take a step back as you become a little self-conscious, but you hold yourself together. “I just didn’t take you for a slushy guy, I guess?” You smile sheepishly, bringing a hand behind your neck._

_He backs off a little, giving you some space, “Well… you’re not wrong.” His other hand falls into a different pocket. “I just…”_

_Atsumu widens his stance by a couple inches and turns his head to look down the aisle. There’s a change in expression. And almost as though he were wearing a mask, there’s a clear chip in his bright exterior. Exhaustion seeps through. You can tell because you’ve been there._

_You are there._

_“I dunno… It’s just a nice change of pace. Nobody’s starin’ atcha. No one’s askin’ questions.”_

_He looks at you, reading your expression to see if he should continue. You let him ramble. You guess that it’s just what one does when one chooses to chat up a 7/11 acquaintance - you listen._

_“...Life’s busy and this is probably the one place I feel like I can actually catch a break. I mean, I like my life, but it’s not exactly… easy. Plus time doesn’t really pass when you’re staring at 500 different gatorade flavors, y’know?” He chuckles at himself._

_You seemed to absorb every word._

_Those eyes of yours gazed up at him so thoughtfully that it almost felt as though he were talking to someone familiar. If it weren’t for the basket hanging from your arm and the shelves surrounding your frames, he could almost imagine having this conversation in a more intimate setting. In a quiet coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon… skipping out on practice to speak to someone of substance… expanding his range of normalcy to include you and some other, smaller public places..._

_“Sorry for ramblin’.” He sighs, bringing himself back to earth and away from his thoughts._

_But you weren’t about to let him apologize for a conversation that you were actively enjoying. An actual conversation with someone who seemed remotely interested in you too._

_“Hey, don’t say sorry. I understand that actually…”_

\---

The conversation ended soon after, but he’d ended up walking you out to your car whilst cracking a couple of stupid jokes - puns which you half-glared at him for… but you just couldn’t stifle a laugh. He’s a little rusty when it comes to casual conversation, but smooth in terms of flirting. It was comfortable.

Atsumu is charming, that much you can tell.

And as he closed the door to your car, he had also told you to text him sometime… _“If ya wanna, of course.”_

You half-smile as you recall his phrasing… and texting him is what you’re currently _trying_ to do. But there’s a big difference between prompting a conversation in person and being the first to start a conversation through text.

You used to make friends so easily back in high school. Texting, even on your old flip-phone, was something that came naturally to you. Even in college, with all of your late-nights and heavy assignments, you’d still managed to stay close with your friends and make time to call them in your spare time. 

But your self-esteem had taken a pretty steep nose-dive since you’d moved. You’d almost say that your middle school self probably had more confidence than you do right now… which is saying quite a lot. 

But it’s true. Being an adult out here all on your own and making friends is an enigmatic task. Especially when you’re reaching out to the friendly convenience store stranger with expensive taste in outerwear. You can’t tell if it’s a new low or just... _lonely_. 

And you’re not exactly sure what you’re doing right now.

Okay, _scratch that._

You _know_ what you’re doing. You’re just… worried.

For a moment you wonder why you’re toying with the idea of sending him a text. Why would you entertain a conversation with a stranger in the first place? Who is this guy anyway? Was this a big waste of time? Was he just looking for a hookup or had he actually been curious about you?

However, you’re not about to spend the rest of your years as a lonely cat lady (without the cats). And you have run into this Atsumu guy twice now - both times, accidental. He remembered you. Laughed a little with you. You then remind yourself _he_ gave _you_ his number. 

He wasn’t what you would call 'normal.’

But maybe that’s okay. What you really need right now is someone to talk to. Someone interesting to take your mind off of the mind numbing monotony of life.

You feel your fingers finally press against the cool glass of the phone screen. You type… erase… begin typing again… and you’re satisfied with the brief message you’ve pulled together.

But before you can send it, there’s a *ping* noise. Startled by the unexpectedly loud notification, you drop your phone in your lap and suck in a breath - it’s been awhile since you last got a notification that hasn’t been work related. Your heart rate had lamely picked up, to which you roll your eyes at, so you give yourself a second to calm down before picking the phone back up off the bed sheets.

And suddenly there’s a little blue bubble in front of you that wasn’t there before.

> _11:30 pm - **Atsumu** :_ hey you :) it’s Atsumu

> _11:30pm - **Atsumu** :_ wait, this is (y/n) right?

A grin spreads across your face. Talk about timing. There’s a buzz in your body that you haven’t felt in awhile and it’s anything but unwelcome.

You’re quick to start tapping away at the keyboard, any and all hesitation melted away from your mind.

> _11:31pm - **You** :_ heya! yes, it’s (y/n)

> _11:31pm - **Atsumu** :_ you reply fast

To that you tilt your head a little…

> _11:32pm - **You** :_ is that a bad thing?

His text bubble takes a moment to sort out its reply, but you’re satisfied with his response.

> _11:32pm - **Atsumu** :_ nah

> _11:32pm - **Atsumu** :_ most people don’t, so it’s kind of nice. plus it’s pretty late rn, so i rly wasn’t expecting you to be up

> _11:33pm - **You** :_ well,,, here i am :,) so what’s up?

> _11:33pm - **Atsumu** :_ okay, well, if i’m being totally honest

> _11:33pm - **Atsumu** :_ i can’t sleep at all.

Neither can you. You start typing, but pause when you notice he’s adding to his thoughts.

> _11:34pm - **Atsumu** :_ and i’m actually not much of a texter, so i was wondering

> _11:34pm - **Atsumu** :_ would you maybe wanna call?

If you’d thought you’d been startled earlier, it was nothing in comparison to the leap your heart just now took. You actually have to remind yourself to breathe for a moment. The nerves that had prickled under your skin earlier are back with a forceful push.

Because _wow_ is he forward. Sure, it’s a casual question. It’s company and conversation... and secretly, you find yourself lonely with a bottle of wine in your room more often than not these days. But is this _really_ what people do nowadays?

Do people really call people they hardly know when it’s this close to midnight? Is this a new trend? Could you even refer to it as a trend? Or is this just something that this Atsumu guy does?

Questions race through your mind as you try to determine if this is normal or not...

But you look around you.

You’re in your apartment. In a city you can hardly call home even after 3 long years. You’re surrounded by an enormous array of pillows that just scream ‘lonely.’

And suddenly, you _hate_ the silence of your bedroom. You’re more scared of the darkness around you than you are of the person on the other side of the screen. You clutch at the top of your sheets and pulls your legs toward your chest, sitting up against your headboard.

And before you know it, your phone is dialing his contact.

*Click*

And a slightly rough voice tainted with sleepiness begins to pleasantly fill your ears,

“Hey there…”


	4. pre-game rituals & phone calls

Atsumu had meant to check-in to his hotel room before his away game. 

A shower and some rest is always ideal before a match, but that hadn’t been in the cards this morning. Hours of traffic, complete standstills in the middle of the highway, and bright red brake lights put a stop to his smooth pre-game rituals.

Thus the travel destination had changed.

Instead of spending 4 hours in a private room snoozing, stretching, and hydrating, he was situated in the passenger seat of a large black SUV and headed straight for the stadium.

The setter has had his fair share of chaotic events and unexpected twists the day of a volleyball game, so today isn’t a surprise. And he definitely wasn’t the only one with a wrench thrown into his schedule.

It was the entire MSBY Black Jackal’s team. 

Hinata was running even further behind than ‘Tsumu thanks to some mishaps with a car rental company. 

Bokuto had accidentally skipped breakfast because he slept through all 4 of his alarms (and he is mildly devastated). 

Sakusa can’t find his hand-sanitizer stash that he swears he tucked neatly into his car’s dustless middle console. 

And their captain, Shugo, who couldn’t be more peeved with these numerous setbacks, found himself an hour behind schedule after attempting to help Hinata with the aforementioned car trouble.

His phone has been pinging with notifications all morning from these various team members and, while maybe he should feel more strongly about this level of chaos, Atsumu isn’t at all fazed by things like this.

Yes, he would prefer to settle into his game mindset and reroute his brain to get pumped up for his teammates and properly mentally prepared, but getting there late won’t throw him off.

Because Atsumu’s setting isn’t emotionally charged. 

It won’t fall apart if he loses a little sleep or if he misses his workouts for a week. In a game, his language may be colorful and his reactions _loud_ when a receive doesn’t travel the right way… but it never has an effect on his sets. When he’s in his zone, zeroed in on crafting a perfect toss, he’s all logic and efficiency. It’s nothing but him, his team, and a vibrantly striped volleyball.

And as if he were a cat chasing a laser pointer, Atsumu’s eyes will follow the ball, grasp the information, and lock into a specialized action. He doesn’t need perfect preparation to move freely and smoothly - it just came naturally to him. At this point, the volleyball was like another appendage of his body. The ball could flow on his arms and fingers upon impact without a second thought.

Not much can distract him. And on a particularly good day, even the staggering crowds seem to fade from his peripheral vision entirely.

Their faces are stacked in animated tiers all the way to the top of the ceiling, their bodies moving like flushing waves in their seats. Cheers and shouts echo almost violently throughout the arena from both the fans and the opposition. To some, like Bokuto, the crowd is energy. Like a plant to the sun, he absorbs their praise and fixation with a smile brighter than the stars. To others, Sakusa perhaps, the crowds are almost a negative factor - a minor distraction on a rough day.

But Atsumu is neutral to it. He knows he’s good at what he does. The acquired lines, indentions, and rigid calluses in his hands tell stories of hours of gameplay. Of midnight practice and unexpected injury. He doesn’t need a crowd to tell him if he’s worthy of being on the court.

Atsumu is already confident that he’s supposed to be there.

So, no, routine and rest are not a major factor the day of a big game. He simply holds enough passion for his sport to get him through the day.

But there is a reason he has a schedule and would _prefer_ to settle in first. Atsumu may not need pre-packaged energy _before_ a game, but he would love to draw on those reserves _after_ his game.

Meet and greets are standard after he’s wiped the sweat off of his face, changed his shirt, and reapplied deodorant.

And those fan interactions are exhausting. Steady conversation flows from one bright face of a fan to the next, all glowing with pride as they stand in front of the towering setter. Even though he appreciates them, he’d rather play another full game than smile for 100 photos with 100 different strangers.

If he was running on fumes after signing posters and volleyballs, he was almost empty by the time he’d hugged his last admirer.

And that’s not the end of his day. There are always after parties.

Usually celebrated with beers and pizza in celebration, the boys laugh on bar seats or in restaurant booths.

Tonight, fans stop by for photos at their table, glasses clink together, waitresses smile a little too sweetly, and voices rise. But after an hour passed, restaurant foot-traffic seemed to die down and with that, so did the table’s energy.

If it weren’t for Bokuto and Hinata’s cheerful atmosphere, the table would be dead silent. Even if Atsumu was already half-asleep in his seat, slunk down to the base of the cushion in said booth, they always found a way to keep him from passing out in the middle of an establishment. These methods took the form of prodding questions.

“So ‘Tsum-Tsum, you seeing anyone lately?” Bokuto asks much too loudly, his voice practically bouncing off of the walls. 

The raise of his eyebrows and the sparkle in his eye prove only one thing: that it’s an innocent question.

Bokuto doesn’t mean for it to be invasive - it was a show of pure, drunken curiosity.

But before Atsumu can even blink, the blonde has a tired hand pressed into his messed-up hair and his teeth biting the inside of his cheek. This was the last thing he wanted to speak about. 

“I’m gonna take your silence as a no.” Bokuto grins guiltlessly and turns his gaze elsewhere, eyes catching on someone else’s table of food. “Honestly ‘Tsum-tsum, I really thought you liked that girl you were with awhile back. Did you drive her off or sumthin’?”

Atsumu’s hand then falls out of his hair and hits the seat limply, exasperation emanating off of him. 

Since when was Bokuto an expert on relationships? Atsumu is almost sure that he’s blown through at least 4 ‘serious’ relationships in the past 2 years. He had no right to bring this up. But all Atsumu can do is frown with heavy-lidded eyes, slinking even lower and sloppier in his seat. An expression that practically begs for him to drop the subject - an unlikely outcome.

“Whats it matter to you?” He mumbles dryly.

The blonde glares at Bokuto from across the table.

His bubbly friend always found a way to bring up some badly timed or emotionally questionable topic, but did he really have to bring this up right now? As if this subject hadn’t already been hanging over his head for months? And why should Atsumu be exposed for all of his insecurities while sitting on a torn up, plastic covered booth in the middle of a combination pizza joint and bar.

“But you know you could if you wanted to…” The wing spiker rambles on, now looking at his own food, a disturbingly greasy slice of pepperoni pizza, and not paying attention to the words flowing from his mouth. “It’s hard to find someone who works. It really is... but it can be so much fun to date someone.”

Warm, golden-yellow eyes are now pointed back at Atsumu’s sleepy ones.

He isn’t sure if his eyes are just blurry or if Bokuto’s expression lost its enthusiastic edge. For a brief moment, he seems… softened.

But before he can determine anything, Bokuto snaps back into conversation and that thousand-watt glow is beaming from his face once again.

“Oh! Oh! For example, I met this super cute fan awhile back and we really hit it off…”

Atsumu sighs, nodding out of habit.

If he’d taken that nap or even rested in his hotel earlier, he might have the energy to tell him to shut up… but he’s no match for Bokuto’s photosynthetic energy. To think he’d once been so enthusiastic after games… where did that spry, loud-mouthed kid go over these past several years?

 _Why am I here again?_ Atsumu checks his watch: _9:16pm._ Glancing to his right, he catches Sakusa doing the same thing, a displeased frown plastered across his face as he looks for a timely escape from this outing he’d been dragged to.

_At least I’m not the only one who’s uncomfortable right now. But Omi’s always like this._

“...like, she knew me and had gone to games and stuff, but it wasn’t weird at all…”

Bokuto’s voice trails mindlessly, Sakusa stares up at him with mild disgust, and Hinata is now chatting with a waitress at the end of the table about a soccer game playing on television and recounting something about his time in Brazil.

Atsumu begins to faze out and away from the owl-looking male’s words.

Then Bokuto whips his head back to Atsumu, recapturing his attention.

“I really just,” He hiccups, “-really just think you should think about it though. You’ve been looking like you could use a friend, lately. I know how that f- _WAIT_ Akaashi is facetiming me, I’ll be back.”

Bokuto bounds out of his seat, leaving Sakusa and Atsumu at the table. They make quick eye-contact, but the raven-haired boy only squints in confusion and promptly leaves the table saying something about _‘Cleansing himself from the mess of that one-sided conversation.’_

However Atsumu is left dumbfounded. There’s an odd feeling rising in his chest.

Was… Was Bokuto actually giving advice? Inadvertently?

The silver-haired boy’s face was red from the alcohol, clearly unaware of the substance of his words… but they were still impactful.

It’s true that, even though Atsumu may not show it out on the court, he’s been creating distance between himself and others.

Maybe Bokuto is _just_ perceptive enough to figure that out. Maybe he’d noticed Atsumu’s hesitance to workout together. Maybe Bokuto had overheard him turn down the offer of drinks with that model girl at a Tokyo bar a couple weeks ago after a game. It could even be that his entire aura is giving off this expression of pitiful seclusion even if his face said he was happy.

Or maybe Bokuto is just a certified mind reader when he’s drunk.

But Atsumu can feel it in the pit of his stomach. Of course he wants to be around people - the desire, _the pull_ is there to do so - but if he can’t do it freely... if he was always being watched... if he didn’t have the time to slow down his schedule… if people changed everytime they figured out his profession in tandem with a weighty follower count...

Then how could he?

Now there’s not only a pit in his stomach, but an itch to get out of his sunken position and away from the noise of this place.

And after realizing he’s had one to many drinks, a slight rosy tint is painting Atsumu’s cheeks too. He quickly pays for his food with a random credit card in his wallet, smiles at the waitress in tired appreciation (a smile he’s had to practice routinely for the public eye), and then takes his leave from the restaurant.

Stepping outside, Atsumu recognizes the smell of rain on asphalt. It’s a positively dreary evening. Shoving his hands into the pockets of the black jeans he had changed into before eating, he walks across the sidewalk and stands at the corner. Catching a cab is about all he can do at this point.

He waves down a taxi, rambles off the address of the hotel, and looks exhaustedly out of the window the entire ride. And suddenly, something is prodding at his mind. Atsumu is thinking, _contemplating_ what feels so familiar about the city right now.

Why are the streetlamps and flashing storefront signs giving him this feeling of déja vu? 

The glow of rain water on the road is bringing his thoughts back to his current residence. His neighborhood. The local area around his apartment… and most importantly, Atsumu’s thoughts are circling around that 7/11 again.

And suddenly neon lights in shop windows are associated with a stranger.

He shakes his head.

Your image doesn’t go away.

But before he can pursue that line of thought and fully persuade his brain away from you, he’s arrived at his hotel and is paying the cab driver with absentminded generosity from his wallet.

He lifts his phone to see a text, about an hour old, explaining that his luggage is being held at the front of the lobby.

He’d been so dizzy in thought that he’d forgotten to track down the team manager for his suitcase and bags that he’d left back in the SUV. Atsumu texts back a quick ‘Thanks so much’ noting to bring them a coffee at the next practice meet - they’d saved his ass once again.

He then makes his way to the entrance of the hotel and on to the managers desk.

A few quick words and a key card are exchanged with a short, grey-haired lady at the front desk. She gives him a closed mouth smile and asks a few questions about the MSBY sweatshirt he’s wearing, then he’s off to the elevator and lifted up to his floor.

It’s relatively quiet but with a glance down at his watch, it makes more sense. It reads: _10:55pm._

He frowns, unlocking his door slowly with the keycard. It beeps red. Too slow, he guesses.

So he tries again and this time it opens. The dim room, though new looking, smells old. Like laundry detergent and weary travelers.

He lets out what must be his 20th sigh of the day and sets his suitcase on the luggage rack, unzipping it and throwing a pair of shorts and a grey t-shirt onto the bed. He then reaches to unzip a pocket, grasping a shampoo bottle followed by some conditioner… but he winces.

Atsumu had jammed his fingers earlier while making a block, but he’d wrapped his hand and moved on. Without the tape, it throbbed. Actually, nearly every muscle was screaming at him - which is why he planned on taking a tension-relieving shower.

He felt like he was going to turn into a soupy puddle on the floor. Every inch of him _always_ ached this way after a game. If his brother were around, Atsumu would allow himself to be dramatic, complaining and groaning about the dulled pain in his legs…

But Osamu isn’t here right now to listen to his mumbling and his teammates are either already in bed or checked into a different hotel entirely.

So Atsumu carries on, switching the shampoo and conditioner into a different hand, and he’s off to the bathroom.

Turning on the shower, it burns hot. Steam is quick to fill the room and beads of water appear on the walls and mirror.

It’s fogged up now, but Atsumu leans on the faux-marble countertop and stares at himself for a second. Both his personal self-reflection and his actual, physical reflection felt foggy and undefined. His blonde hair and skin were but pale blobs against the bluish tint of the mirror’s glass.

Why did this feel so symbolic of his life?

Why was his mind only clear during a game?

Was half-hearted fulfillment from random strangers ever going to be enough? Was he wrong for wanting to drag somebody into his hectic life?

And the more he thought about it, the worse he felt. So he steps out of his pants and tugs his shirt over his head, lazily tossing it to the corner of the bathroom floor.

The water runs over his legs and then hits his chest. The difference in the temperature of his skin to the temperature is sharp and sends a chill running down his body with the flow of the water. It’s hot… cleansingly so. Exactly what he needs to process through his day - something his counselor told him to do when thoughts began to weigh on him.

So as he brings a sudsy, shampooed hand to his hair, Atsumu unpacks a list of notes he’d made throughout the day - something that Kita had taught him to do back in highschool. When things were much simpler and far quieter. 

_The game went well. My sets were normal. My receives needs work. Bokuto needs to drink more water between sets. Sakusa has to communicate his setting needs more frequently. Hinata… Hinata did fine today. Shion and Adriah were stellar today..._

But the game isn’t what’s resting on his mind.

It was that stupid ‘conversation’ that Bokuto had with him. It nagged at him like his mother when he’d got caught sneaking out with Osamu one school night when he was a 3rd year. For some reason he was the one who got an earful and not Osamu. He chuckles to himself, the fond sound floating around the bathroom.

He’d been so angry that night. At himself for getting caught… at ‘Samu for not taking any blame… at his mom for taking his phone for 2 weeks straight. But now he misses it. He misses family. People.

It’d be nice to walk out of this shower and see someone, warm with arms wide open, waiting for him on his bed. He’d probably seen enough undressed bodies in hotel rooms to last him the next fifty years… not that he’d turn it down or anything. 

But when was the last time he’d had a personal conversation with someone who cared about him? 

He’s always had his brother… but Osamu isn’t exactly the cuddly, listener type. Not to mention, that’s his brother, not his best friend. ‘Samu had his back, but he was quick to tell him to, _‘Shut the hell up and stop being so dramatic.’_

He’d never admit it, but Atsumu would much rather lay his head in someone’s soft lap and speak to them softly. If he so much as leaned a little too closely to ‘Samu he’d get shoved, so that’s asking for quite a lot in terms of his brother. 

He rolls his eyes and reaches for the conditioner, the purple tinted one that he’d wish he’d known about back in high-school. Lathering the suds through his hair, he lets it sit for a minute or two before washing it out.

Atsumu turns the water off and reaches out of the shower to grab his towel, wrapping it loosely around his waist. It’s actually softer than the ones he has at home.

He towels himself dry, treads back to the main room, and tosses on the clothes he’d laid out for himself.

And it’s quiet once again.

Jumping on the bed and picking up his phone, Atsumu begins to scroll through apps and messages. He sees a text from Sakusa blaming him for getting Bokuto all worked up, even though he did nothing to spur on that mess of an interaction. But Omi did have to bring a flailing Bokuto back to the hotel apparently, so he isn’t about to fight him on it.

But drunk or not, Bokuto had been right. 

However selfish it may be, Atsumu wanted a friend. Someone to laugh with. Someone to go out to eat with or take to his games. Maybe even an actual, formal date?

But he wasn’t about to live a double life. Or sacrifice his volleyball career for a relationship.

That doesn’t mean he can’t try _something_ though.

 _Or at least_ , he thinks, _trying is all he can do._

Because Atsumu isn’t untouchable, right?

_...Right?_

His twitter feed seems to negate that because as he is now scrolling through his timeline, he’s met with dozens of photos of himself, tweets from various fan accounts with hearts strewn throughout its messages, and several thousand more followers from the past few days.

A lot of people liked him. Several adored him.

Some of them thought enough of him to even trash his past casual relationships the moment they hit the news feed. All based in needless drama. Or maybe jealousy? He didn’t actually care where it came from, but it used to make his blood boil. 

Now he just knows that it’s a part of the lifestyle. Casual relationships aren’t casual anymore. Friendships aren’t even safe. 

But as he flips back to his messages… he catches sight of your contact.

_**(F/n) (L/n)** _

It’s actually a really pretty name. Really suits your face.

He’d never been one to notice the little things. The sparkle of someone’s eyes. The soft touch of a hand brushing against his own. Those small mannerisms and habits that one has built up over the course of their life. The name of a stranger fitting their physique and facial structure a little too well...

But age had tempered some of his drama and fame had made pleasure easy and accessible… so due to its rarity, the little joys of life have become special to him. 

Sappy, he knows.

And against his own better judgement, he consciously makes the decision to tap on your contact. A picture isn’t even attached to it. He hasn’t looked you up on social media. But he still wonders…

Would you respond if he sent you something tonight? Atsumu glances at the time on his screen: _11:28pm._

This is gonna be pretty lame. He knows it too.

The blonde, famous, built volleyball player is lonely as fuck. You would see right through that in an instant, he’s sure. Anyone could when it came to late night texts…

But considering that he’s seen you out and about around this time before, it’s safe to say that you could possibly be up right now. So maybe he should just risk it.

He rolls over onto his side, tugs the leg on the bottom toward his body, and taps the messaging icon.

Like _hell_ he has the energy to text… but he doesn’t really care about that anymore. Atsumu has his mind set on this and he’s never been one to get worked up over a simple message.

So he types out a quick, 'Hey.’

But it isn’t personal enough. He groans, bringing a hand to his face and dragging it down in exhaustion. When’s the last time he composed a message to someone that wasn’t his team, his physical therapist, or an ex?

He settles on adding a smiley-face and a few more words - a friendly touch - not that it’ll make much of a difference, but he secretly hopes that you’ll be more responsive because of it.

Setting his phone to his side, he unscrews the cap to a complementary water bottle on the bedside table.

Hardly a minute later, the phone buzzes against the bedsheets.

And a smile forces itself onto his face. Atsumu flicks open the message.

You reply fast, he notes.

Atsumu responds with those words exactly, sitting up a little on his bed though his back is incredibly sore.

He banters back and forth with you, typing quickly with his thumbs and a smirk set upon his lips. But what he doesn’t notice is the soft feeling that floats around in his chest. It hints at excitement.

But a yawn breaks the concentration of his eyes on the screen and he has to blink away some of the sleepiness. It’s only been about 4 minutes and exhaustion is already battling his body viciously… 

Maybe he should set the phone down.

Or…

Would you pick up if he called? Calling was less effort right? No?

Doesn’t matter.

Not that he’s used to this or anything, but it feels like the natural thing to do right now. Because what if you did want to talk? How interesting would that be?

And apparently you do because his phone is lighting up with your name and an ‘answer’ button next to it.

He lets it ring for a second. That’s when the nerves hit. A drop in his stomach, a coldness in his fingers.

But Atsumu’d ask _you_.

He picks up.

“Hey there.”

There’s a warmth in his voice that surprises even himself. It’s somewhat rough from shouting across the court earlier in the day… but it’s definitely warm. Just like his face right now.

You spoke softly into the phone, a slight crackle from the crappy reception of his hotel room.

“...Hi.” 

But as warm as his voice echoes, yours is smooth like silk. So easygoing and sweet. He wonders why it sends a chill running through him. And why that chill isn’t unpleasant.

“You’re up late.” He states plainly, but you definitely hear the teasing edge to his voice.

“Oh? You’re one to talk.” You scoff, “You know _you're_ the one who sent a text first, right?”

A smile tugs at his lips.

“So you were planning on texting me?”

Your line goes quiet for a moment. 

Hopefully that hadn’t made you uncomfortable.

“...So what if I was?” You speak softly into the phone, “Also why are we talking solely in questions?”

There’s a rustling on your end. You’re probably in bed right now.

He chuckles at that, “I hoped ya might, but since you hadn’t I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“But at midnight?” You question.

He just purses his lips and stretches his legs out. “11:40.” Atsumu corrects.

“Whatever.” You sigh on your end, but you don’t sound frustrated. Just amused. “So why’d you wanna call? We, uh… don’t exactly know each other well.”

And Atsumu freezes up.

He’d pretty much acted of his own volition… and he hadn’t planned on saying why he’d called. Now he feels like a loser and as though he’s got nothing to say to you.

Where exactly was this conversation supposed to go?

This probably wasn’t even an okay idea to begin with.

You seem to sense his few seconds of discomfort, even if you don’t understand the extent of it, adding quickly: “...But hey, who am I to say anything. I called you didn’t I?” 

Never has a voice, through a phone nonetheless, sounded more relieving. His shoulders, bunched up slightly, loosen and sink back down into a more comfortable position. This was a tension he wasn’t familiar with… 

But you deserve at least some truth. So he does his best to sound relaxed.

“Mmm, you seemed sweet,” He answers honestly, hoping to break any ice he’d just added to the conversation. “And… I guess I just wanted to chat with someone?” 

“Well, feel free to chat away. I’m a bit of an insomniac.” You explain lightly.

_Is that why he’s seen you out so late? Insomnia?_

“But enough about that. What’re you up to?” You push. 

It’s a simple prompt. Atsumu can work with this.

“Been out of town actually. I’m in a hotel right now.”

“Oh really? How’s that going for you?”

“Well the room smells like shit. I mean, it’s clean and all, but ya. Typical hotel room. It’s alright.”

You laugh softly to yourself, a soothing sound really. “No, no, no. I meant how’s the trip? Where are you?”

 _Ah._ That makes more sense. He’s said dumber, so he lets it roll off his back... but there’s a tinge of embarassment.

“Oh right, yes. The trips fine.” He takes a sip of water, “My friends and I are in Tokyo for the weekend, so it’s been,” He furrows his brows at how to put it, “quite the day. I’m beyond exhausted.”

He continues, “They have this habit of going out and getting wasted. Or at least a couple of them do. Not that I hate having a drink or anything... but they get a little wild. I never know if they’ll get crazy or philosophical.”

He doesn’t mention how he used to do the same. Atsumu, however, finds himself getting bored with that old routine.

You laugh again, this time a little louder. It makes him warm inside. 

“I can only imagine. If your friends are anything like you, I bet they’re trouble.” It’s a slight jab.

He won’t let it slide, “What do ya mean by that?”

“If they call strangers at midnight without warning, hit up 7/11 shoppers, or dress like… however you dress… I don’t know how to tell you otherwise. It’s all trouble.”

He wants to argue, but you sounded almost as though you were wearing a smile… and it’s enough to make Atsumu smile himself.

“Plus I bet y’all blow up your snapchats with a bunch of random shit. Yeah... that sounds about right.” You finish.

A breath catches in his throat. 

So you really hadn’t looked him up yet? Should he ask? Were you just messing with him? You could just be a really good actor.

 _Nah_ , he could be subtle about it.

“How would you know? Unless… you’ve been stalking my social media.”

Maybe he could block you on there before-

“I actually… don’t really do social media? It’s put me in a bad place mentally before.”

Now **that's** interesting. In this day and age, only his grandmother and loaded CEO’s could afford to live life without an Instagram. 

“How so?” He asks innocently.

The audio rustles again followed by some crackling in the microphone and a deep sigh. Then there’s a plunk - like you’d just fallen right into a pillow. Which, in fact, you had. But he couldn’t see that of course.

“I’ve just had a lot of… FOMO, yknow? I’m not exactly a social butterfly these days and seeing all of my old friends out at the bar or at parks or doing… I dunno, literally _anything_ along those lines has put me in a bad headspace.”

“Did ya get into a fight with em or somethin’?”

“No, I moved away a few years ago.” You sigh.

It sounds defeated.

And a lot like how he felt earlier tonight. Before he called you.

“It’s been… rough to say the least.” And a tiredness enters your voice that definitely hadn’t been there before. The fact that it translates through his phone is almost worrying. But he won’t press you on that any further, though he’s curious.

“So you’re out of town for what again?” You shift the subject back to him.

That question was inevitable. There were also numerous ways to ramble off an answer. Atsumu definitely doesn't want to lie to you - not when his life itself already feels relatively staged… but he also doesn’t want you to know exactly who he is just yet.

Maybe it’s selfish, but people don’t seem to understand that, to the famous, it’s also security. Anonymity is a safe haven in its own way.

Why you trusted him enough to call him, he can’t put his finger on it.

But he’s piecing things together slowly.

_Insomniac, away from home, modest social life…_

It seems vaguely like him. A little bit like loneliness… just without all the publicity and gym routines.

So he responds to your question with one of his own:

“How about I tell you when I get back?”

Everything pauses.

Your breath through the phone is all he hears.

And then you reply simply, “Yeah.”

“In person?” He presses.

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i know this chapter is long, but we’re getting more background & substance... plus the end is setting us up for some more serious interactions hhh. let me know your thoughts if you’d like! & thank you all for waiting for this chapter :)) i promise i’m working hard on the set-up and on more action-focused chapters! also sorry if you saw any strange characters, i tend to copy the HTML from my tumblr... but sometimes it makes things wonky & i don't catch those mistakes hhh
> 
> much luv,  
> gracie <3


	5. onigiri miya & explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu really can't handle all of this by himself - Osamu is his saving grace.

“Your place is a wreck.” Osamu points out, slowly scanning the contents of the apartment.

Judgement is written in fine lines all across his forehead, but it’s partially covered by Osamu’s ‘Onigiri Miya’ cap. It rests slightly off kilter on his head but he otherwise looks well put together. Osamu always looked relatively composed as of late… and it was starting to weird Atsumu out.

Atsumu has learned to let go of envy over the years… but sibling rivalry is an eternal battle.

The way that life was going for Osamu could almost be described as supernatural. Piece by perfect puzzle piece, Osamu’s dedication had led him to success. A quieter version of it in comparison to Atsumu, but still success nonetheless. ‘Onigiri Miya’ was already wildly popular, but with the recent addition of a location in Osaka (which is within _much_ closer proximity to Atsumu’s place) and a couple of MSBY sponsorships, the business has really boomed.

He’s happy for Osamu, he really is, but seeing him so calm and content all the time was going to drive him crazy. And for a guy running a restaurant, couldn’t he at least _look_ like it too? Somehow Osamu had maintained, if not added to, his muscle tone. Which, by the way, is so unfair.

“No, seriously, when’s the last time you cleaned up?” He presses, scrunching up his nose like a displeased cat.

“Shut the hell up, ‘Samu.” He snaps, indignance radiating off of him like a furnace. “I saw your house last week and it wasn’t lookin’ too hot either.” 

“...Yeah well it’s a helluva lot better than whatever’s going on here.” Osamu states matter-of-factly, still surveying the living room.

The darker-haired twin then makes his way to the kitchen and begins rummaging through the pantry and then on to the fridge. Atsumu is in tow, trailing shortly behind him. Osamu pauses, leaning into the white light of the fridge. There’s a distinct _‘what the actual fuck are you eating’_ look on his face - Atsumu wants to wipe it right off of him.

He then takes a step back, sighs, and admits, “I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t think I could make anything with the shit you’ve got in your fridge right now.”

“Bullshit. I bought veggies just the other day.” Atsumu crosses his arms and leans back against the kitchen countertop.

“Oh, really?” 

“Mhmm.”

Osamu pulls a small, plastic wrapped package out of the fridge, “You mean these?” He holds it out toward Atsumu momentarily. It looks fine from a distance.

“Yes!” He confirms with a tinge of pride - Atsumu isn’t exactly the chef that ‘Samu is, but he likes to think he’s got at least some skill.

“They expired last week.”

Atsumu’s entire face falls, mouth hanging open slightly.

“...Shit.” It’s a valid response.

‘Tsumu had planned on making lunch for Osamu today with those vegetables … but that clearly wasn’t in the cards. Any chance of impressing (not that he _wants_ to) his brother is thrown out the window. 

Osamu smirks, sets the expired package out on the countertop by the sink, and closes the refrigerator doors. But, out of kindness, he resumes his typical blank facial expression and crosses his arms, absentmindedly mimicking Atsumu.

“Okay so you apparently still can’t cook…” He sighs, “But can you help me test some recipes tomorrow?” 

Now this was a side of Osamu he could enjoy. Atsumu may hate caving to some of Osamu’s requests, but if it involved noodles, rice, or ‘Samu’s food in general, he would gladly offer up his taste buds to “help” his brother out.

However, for the first time in months, he actually can’t.

Atsumu has something planned. With you. Which is still shocking and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on edge. The prickliness of nerves, something he hasn’t felt in years, buzzes all across his body.

And though neither of you outright said it, the possibility of this being a date seems… more than likely. 

You’d mentioned over the phone that you were a fan of diners and that you _‘wouldn’t mind a free meal,’_ to which Atsumu rolled his eyes at… but that didn’t keep an intense energy from flowing through him after you accepted his offer to hangout.

Atsumu is now staring off in thought, trying to find a way to break this to Osamu. Even under the worst of circumstances, Atsumu usually tells Osamu about these milestone moments the very second they happen, but he’s been a little too preoccupied with the oddness of this scenario to even breathe a word in his twin’s direction.

Osamu eyes him up and down, searching for some semblance of an affirmative answer.

“Actually, I’m busy tomorrow...” Atsumu responds slowly, dropping his arms to his side.

Osamu quirks an eyebrow, “Is Hinata keeping you at practice later again? Does he not have an off-button?”

“Nope, it’s not Hinata this time.” He sighs, brushing a hand through his hair. 

That’s definitely not a bad guess. If Hinata could practice every single day, he probably would. That kid runs on batteries.

“Okay, are ya actually gonna tell me what you’re doin’ though?” Osamu asks, grabbing a semi-fresh tomato from a bowl on the counter and fiddling through a drawer for a serrated knife.

With a hand still twiddling in his hair and his other palm resting against the countertop, Atsumu explains, “Well… I might’ve gotten myself a date.”

Atsumu holds his breath, puffing his cheeks out slightly, and waits for a response.

Osamu only sighs and brings a hand to the brim of his baseball cap, fixing it to be a bit more symmetrical on his head. He then grabs a plastic cutting board and begins dicing the large tomato.

“Is this another one of those model girls? I didn’t meet the last one but from what I last heard, she wasn’t exactly… easy going.” Osamu questions.

Atsumu gives him a strange look… but realization dawns on him, causing him to cover his face with his hands, groaning, “No, no, no. Jenny was a mistake. Please don’t bring that up…” He peeks through his fingers, “And anyway, that was years ago.”

But he leans back, folding his arms in front of his chest. Atsumu’s last official relationship wasn’t exactly a cakewalk. 

Osamu snorts, “Alright whatever. Then where’d ya meet this mystery human?” He continues chopping, glancing from his knife to Atsumu every few seconds.

And the room goes quiet.

“...No comment.”

The dicing stops and Osamu simply observes his brother. He’s as tense as they come. While Atsumu can be self-aware at times, it’s definitely not the first trait Osamu would ascribe to him. He probably has no idea just how uncharacteristically timid he looks right now.

But, knowing bits and pieces of his brother’s social predicaments, he chooses to hone in on Atsumu’s “date” instead of his nervous demeanor.

“That sounds suspicious as hell, so please. Do me a favor and tell me the truth so that I don’t hafta assume the worst.” Osamu rumbles, grabbing another tomato from the bowl and making quick, even slices.

There’s a reluctant sigh, a nervous shift, and a request: “You can’t laugh. Promise ya won’t laugh.” It’s a futile attempt at keeping the inevitable at bay.

His gaze flicks up to Atsumu for a brief second before flitting back down.

“I’m not promisin’ anything.” Osamu states plainly.

Atsumu hesitates… but there’s no point in keeping it a secret any longer.

“ _...7/11._ ” He murmurs almost inaudibly.

“What.”

“At 7/11.” Atsumu repeats a bit louder.

‘Samu hums, “You’re gonna have to speak up a little, I caught none of that-”

“We met at a 7/11 a few minutes from this apartment.” Atsumu blurts out, half-yelling.

Their eyes meet, although Osamu’s looked somewhat glazed over.

“A 7/11…” He echos, setting the knife down for good this time.

And Osamu doesn’t just laugh… he’s pretty much howling. 

With a hand on his stomach and bellowing cackles, Osamu’s voice fills the apartment. Atsumu not only feels nervous but he’s now veiled with humiliation. He doesn’t usually care what his brother thinks, but honestly? He could use some support right now.

Catching his breath, he manages to utter out, “Alright, you can stop pullin’ my leg. This might be the funniest thing you’ve said all year.”

But there’s silence.

_Bleeding_ silence. 

“Oh you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me. Are ya for real? This is just... so not you.” He gapes, eyes wide - a very rare expression from Osamu indeed.

“I sure as hell ain’t lyin’ to ya.” Atsumu mutters, eyes darting away from his brother.

“Oh this is golden… what’s their name?”

_A strangely normal question, but okay. Does Osamu still think he’s joking?_

“Uh, their name’s _(F/n) (L/n)_.”

“Hm… alright.”

Osamu studies his twin.

In the past, Atsumu was cocky in regards to dates and special… events. He’d go straight to Osamu to gloat - it’s annoying as hell and nothing he isn’t used to.

But Osamu almost wishes Atsumu were bragging or rubbing it in his face… because this standoffish, nerve-riddled version of his brother is just _wrong_.

This wasn’t some normal date. There’s no such thing as a “normal” date when it comes to famous people anyway, but, no… something is very off. Best to just ask, he decides.

“Is… is there something you wanna... tell me?” Osamu inquires, reluctant to actually hear his answer but genuinely concerned for his twin.

A boatload of emotional cargo seems to lift off of his brother’s shoulders with that relieving question and he straightens up.

“So the thing is,” Atsumu responds almost immediately, “they might not… know who I am.”

And it’s a staring contest once again.

If the silence was uncomfortable before, it was now to the point of inflicting pain. Osamu continues to gape, gathering his thoughts and wiping his hands on a towel by the sink.

“So let me get this straight,” Osamu brings a hand up to his face, pinching his brow, “They know _nothing about you_?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He nods.

Osamu nods even slower in return, mulling the situation over.

“You’re _sure_?” He presses, leaning across the kitchen island in Atsumu’s direction.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Not even your socials?”

“They, uh, don’t exactly _do_ social media.” Atsumu explains simply as though not having an Instagram is as normal as the sky is blue.

Osamu’s eyes are now shut tightly in utter disbelief, his expression souring by the second. Searching for some form of physical support, he rests his arms on the counter and breathes out to himself, “This feels like some shit right out of a movie.”

Atsumu presses his hands down onto the countertop in nearly matched surprise, “I know right? Like Peter Parker before he reveals that he’s Spider-Man or something…” He rambles on.

“Woah, woah, woah.” He shakes his head, attempting to grasp Atsumu’s immaturity, “Okay, let me cut you off right there.”

Atsumu clamps his mouth shut - an amusingly unusual sight.

“One, you’re not actually that cool. And two, you _have_ to tell them.” Osamu’s honesty slices right through him.

Atsumu can’t help but grimace, his posture stiffening. And suddenly the boisterous, dramatic setter that everyone knows and loves is far more reticent. Whether or not this is a date, it’s a big deal.

And he _knows_ he has to tell you, but… 

“How am I supposed to do that?” Atsumu asks softly.

Atsumu is actually seeking advice. An answer. Earnestly so. 

And suddenly he’s not this athletic, 6’2” volleyball professional. He’s enervated. A much meeker, quieter version of himself - it vaguely reminds Osamu of when they were 8 years old. Of a time when a scraped knee could reduce either of them to a quivering mess of tears. And Osamu understands what it means to feel small and unsure.

But Atsumu can’t afford to let his inner 8 year old out right now. He’s 24 and he needs to act like it, even if he feels like a mess.

Osamu’s eyebrows shoot up, “You haven’t thought about this already?” Because his brother can be dense but usually Atsumu has the sense to think something at least part of the way through.

“I- I have but… but it isn’t exactly easy, y’know!” He counters.

Osamu is rubbing circles on his temples, avoiding eye contact with his sibling.

He wouldn’t say he’s furious with Atsumu… but this is some blame-worthy foolishness on his brother’s part. Osamu knows it isn’t easy. Life for Atsumu, even if he chose this path, just isn’t simple - Osamu is empathetic to that fact even if he doesn’t vocalize it.

But Atsumu can’t be this careless. Not with himself, not with his relationships… and certainly not with _you_. A clueless, mystery human who doesn’t even have an Instagram. Atsumu needed to protect the people in his life, even if it meant sacrificing some of his own personal comforts.

Atsumu clears his throat, successfully drawing Osamu from his thoughts.

“‘Samu, here’s the thing…”

Osamu’s disappointed gaze catches Atsumu’s eyes. It stings… but he continues,

“I was hoping that maybe… you would let me bring them to your restaurant...”

Osamu promptly begins to reason with him, “But don’t you see how messy that could make things? That restaurant _literally_ has the name ‘Miya’ plastered all over it. What about-”

“It would be after hours, of course!” He cuts in before Osamu can say no, “And you really don’t have to do this but… If you would just stick around… I really need your help.” He’s pleading.

Of all the shocking things to happen in the middle of the day, this may be the most jaw-dropping. Not only is his brother blatantly asking for help… but he’s genuinely interested in something other than volleyball and his family.

Atsumu’s hand is in his hair again, tucking and twisting loose pieces around... and Osamu feels a twinge of guilt. He’s well aware of his twin’s nervous habit - these little actions tended to speak louder than Atsumu’s own words at times. So, yes. He’ll help.

“Please.”

And Osamu softens. _You must really be somethin’ special,_ he wonders to himself.

“Fine. But you have to be careful… and if there are any more surprises, I’d really like to know now rather than later, ‘kay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is long overdue but I've been wanting to thank you all for keeping up with this series. it's been unbelievably fun (and challenging) to write!! i never really anticipated many people following along, so this has been really precious to me. your comments, subscriptions, and kudos have made me smile a lot in the past month.
> 
> again, thank you!! i hope to continue to unravel the contents of this series with y'all!
> 
> much love,  
> gracie
> 
> \---  
> you can find me on tumblr: [@sneezefiction](https://sneezefiction.tumblr.com/)


	6. mysterious locations & oh he has a twin

_**Recap:** _

_And for the first half of this year you found yourself falling in love. Falling for this second glance of a man._

_So finding out that Izumi Kenji had a partner was a punch to the gut._

_Reaching for his hand that summer was a defining moment for you. The way he snatched his hand away from yours would have knocked all the air out of your lungs if you’d had any breath to spare._

_**—**  
_

Laughter echoes off the sides of buildings as you make your way past food stalls and restaurants. It’s warm. A gentle breeze tussles his hair, different strands catching purple and orange light from the store signs.

There are several things that are begging to hold your attention right now. 

A new café to your right is stringing a “Grand Opening” banner across its shop doors. Bike bells ring off in the distance, the wheels gently thrumming against dusty cobblestone. Groups of teenagers snicker as they pass you by, their voices carefree and teasing. Two dogs tread loyally next to their owners on the other side of the street, their claws clicking as their paws hit the pavement. 

But even among all of those distractions and details, all you can see is him. The mop of messy hair atop his head. His umber brown eyes. A curious smile.

Izumi Kenji had stolen your heart slowly and carefully; he did so without a balaclava or a disguise to lure you in. And as you meander the downtown area with him, your fondness for him only grows.

Meeting him at that after-work party may have been the best thing that happened to you this year. You were comfortable - in the middle of a bar, talking to a stranger and _laughing_ with him. And who were you to turn down the one good thing life had sent your way.

Although, with how nonexistent your social life was, you would’ve let almost anyone into your social circle. You just deem yourself lucky that it was Kenji who happened to be in your vicinity.

He’d ended up asking for your number at the end of the night - you rattled off the digits faster than you could blink.

_“...if you ever need anything, just send me a text.”_

It was an outstretched hand of a sentence. A bone thrown to a starving dog. Finally, there was a person you could rely on.

You took his words to heart.

After that night, it was almost unfair how easily he broke down your barriers. 

It was Kenji who took you sightseeing through all of Osaka in the Winter months, making sure that you’d mapped out the area so that you were more comfortable when you went exploring on your own. Your snow boots and his became well acquainted.

He’d shown you his favorite eateries and shops, rambling quietly about his favorite pastries and old, dusty memories that came from his time spent in the area. 

His jacket made its way to your shoulder when you visibly shuddered from the cold as Winter shifted to Spring. And as Summer approached, you allowed yourself to let your guard down. With distant eyes, you learned about his family and his plans. You wondered if maybe there was a place for you in that future.

Any doubts about this connection you had with him had melted away. 

He was your closest friend by far… and who’s to say he couldn’t be more?

You glance to your left, a small smile working its way onto your lips. Kenji’s eyes wander the street, completely lost in thought. His expression is serene under the violet glow of street lights. 

And his hand… his hand is _achingly_ close to your own.

Its a position you frequently found yourself in: walking side by side, almost touching, but never quite close enough to grasp at his hand. 

You’ve never really seen yourself as someone to make first moves, but this has gone on for too long. And your fingertips are _begging_ you to do something about this distance between you two. 

You swallow hard.

Choking back your hesitation, you brush your hand against his.

He doesn’t pull away, only sending you a quick glance. Kenji’s soft smile doesn’t budge, though he does raise an eyebrow at you.

You assume that this is a good sign. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, the moment feels natural, and this… this could actually work.

You take one more deep breath and gingerly link your fingers with his-

But before you can even blink, Kenji snaps his hand back to his side. His head whips toward you, feet stopping in their tracks.

“What… what are you doing,” he stammers, eyes widening.

You wince. That wasn’t the reaction you were hoping for. _Far from it._

“I think that’s-” You glance down at your rejected hand, eyes wide, “-kind of obvious.”

He stares at you, mouth agape. You take a step back, heart dropping. Why would he pull his hand back? Did I do something wrong-

“I’m _seeing_ someone-” He breathes, “-you knew that.”

Like a tree branch splintering after a lightning strike, you feel as though something inside of you has cracked and split. 

Your body can’t decide if your blood should turn to ice from shock or if it should succumb to the heat of humiliation rising in your chest. How did you not know this?

And why hadn’t you just _asked_ him first? 

That’s what normal people did. If you hadn’t acted based on a silly impulse maybe you would have spoken to him about your relationship with him first… but it’s too late now. And the pressure continues to build up in your stomach until you feel like a balloon on the verge of popping.  


“...you knew that… _didn’t_ _you_?”

Something sharp stabs at your heart.

“I had no idea.” Your reply is flat. Distant.

It twists.

“I- I’m so sorry, I could’ve sworn I’d told you…” He responds softly.

In a tearing motion, it rips back out.

“No. You hadn’t.” You say curtly, eyes glazing over.

You let on to the bitterness welling up in your chest more than you wish you would have… but who could blame you? 

Tucking your hands deep into your pants pockets, you try to hold your composure. 

Your mouth is uncomfortably dry and your hands are suddenly very sweaty. 

What does someone do in a situation like this? 

You’d always assumed that this was the type of thing to happen to somebody else. Thinking that feelings were mutual and then being struck with the fact that your “almost-boyfriend” was actually already deep into a relationship. It sounds like something out of a teenage romance novel... but it’s clear that the shame clouding your mind is not secondhand.

Unintentionally or not, Kenji had led you on… and here you are, feeling like you’ve just been publicly gutted.

He doesn’t owe you anything. No, _not at all._

If anything, you owe _him_ for all of the kindness he’s extended to you. 

But that doesn’t explain everything he’s done for you these past few months. 

Paying for meals even though you’d practically fought him for bills at every restaurant you’d visited together. Spending hours together on weekends when you both had work to complete. Meeting his friends, taking the train together on days when your schedules collided, exploring the city and your past with him…

You’d wondered why he hadn’t asked you out yet.

It didn’t make any sense.

Maybe he was confused too?

A thought crosses your mind that maybe he may have been using you as some sort of support system. Maybe you were just let into his life to comfort him through his own relational instability. Were you just Kenji’s escape? Is he just completely _unaware_?

But now you’re just jumping to conclusions. It might not be anything of the sort. Trying to piece together a story that doesn’t add up in the first place won’t help you at all - at least, not right after such a blatant rejection.

You take another step back, effectively tuning out anything he has to say. The light on his face no longer reflects something inviting; instead, all you can see is the confusion marring his previously peaceful expression.

He’s trying to talk to you, he’s taking steps toward you, he’s even reaching a hand out… but you just can’t. Not with the discomfort in your chest and a thundercloud of tension rumbling above you.

You can’t remember what shitty excuse you’d made to get out of there, but not even 10 minutes after this awkward, messy, fucked up moment, you’re on a train back home. 

And everything is numb. 

The shuffle and shake of the passenger car is enough to distract you for now.

But the moment you get home - the very _second_ you kick off your shoes - insecurity comes knocking at the door of your mind. 

You lay face down on the couch. The room stirs in darkness, gloom sinking into the cracks of the wall and pooling at the corners of your eyes. Because how was this fair? What had you done to deserve this? Was nothing going to be easy for you?

You let yourself cry.

Questions swim through your mind. Fears too. The pain of, once again, being alone exposes itself through heavy tears and spluttering sobs.

So you attempt to bury it all deep down...

As far from the surface as it can go... 

But as most things do, these questions and insecurities will resurface. 

It’s only a matter of time.

—

You noticed it from the moment you woke up.

The stiffness in your arms and the churning in your stomach were telltale signs… but as the hours rolled on and the sun sunk lower in the sky, it became more obvious. 

Your lungs were fine yesterday, but today they shrink and tighten with every passing minute.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you’ve switched on the TV and turned to Netflix for comfort. It isn’t much, but the modulated noise of a baking show and a warm blanket draped over your lap blocks out some of the dizzying worries in your head.

First date nerves are a thing.

The clammy palms, the jitters, the loss of appetite… you have it _all_. 

You’re well aware that this is a universal experience, so you try to empathize with yourself. There’s no reason to be _embarrassed_ by it. Shame would only drag you deeper into this muddy pit of nerves that you’re so desperately trying to claw your way out of.

But this technically isn’t even a date. 

And you’re not about to assume that it’s _anything_ like one.

Just to be safe, you’ve decided that this outing would blandly be categorized as a “sporadic meet up with a stranger.” Your words, not Atsumu’s. 

But just because it isn’t technically a date doesn’t mean you can’t be jittery… 

You grip the remote in your hand tighter. It accidentally shuts the TV off, but that’s probably for the better. You haven’t gotten ready yet and it’s getting close to 5 pm. Somehow you’d managed to snuggle the day away in your apartment. Again.

Letting out an anxious yawn, you hop up from your nestled position on the couch.

You step into the hallway and make your way to the bathroom to wash your face. As you patter the length of the hall, you finally allow your mind to roam. It immediately hones in on your anxieties like a dog chasing a delightfully peeved squirrel.

Is it pathetic? To be 20 something years old and petrified by something as simple as a dinner date? 

Your brain says “no,” but a part of you is whispering out a quiet “yes” in response. Most people would be excited to see someone after being lonely for so long. 

So why are you this bothered? What’s with this piercing fragility that makes your hands shake and your skin crawl? 

When did you become so… _scared_? Like you would crumble just by being in the presence of another person?

And then it hits you. Your head plummets into your hands.

Ever since you’d met Atsumu, you haven’t had the mental stamina to think about Izumi Kenji. 

Or what he’d done to you. Or how he’d metaphorically pushed you when you were already toeing at the precipice of a cliff. You’d been a step away from falling and breaking under the weight of the past few years, and he’d shattered you in a single night.

So, yes, that would explain the current twisting in your chest. It’s also probably why you’re so worried about Atsumu. Or, at least, it’s one big reason as to why, you conclude.

But, even with this epiphany, you find yourself stepping into the bathroom, wrung dry and physically unsteady. Thinking about Kenji doesn’t make you feel any better.

Your fingers grip the rim of the porcelain sink, eyes fixed on the drain in the center. 

You stare at it. 

One reminder of him and you were already weary. 

The glossiness of the bowl reflects a splotchy, humanesque blob back at you. You swivel the faucet handle, letting warm water coast around the bowl and spiral down the drain. It erases that human-like reflection.

If only it could wash away your problems. Now that’d be something to write home about.

The cool of the tile beneath your feet and a splash of warm water on your face is a welcome distraction… but short-lived. The water drips off of your face. You blindly feel around for a fresh towel and, after laying your hands on one, you gently pat your face down.

Blinking your eyes open, you stand up straight.

As you do, you find yourself studying a much clearer reflection than the blurry face in the sink bowl. Sunken features bore into you from the bathroom mirror. You sigh and turn to open up a medicine cabinet to grab a few facial products, applying them one-by-one.

If you do happen to crash and burn tonight, you figure you might as well look damn good in the process. Skincare would help with that.

But before you can further sink into the idea that tonight might turn into another nightmarish scenario, a friendly face, someone sunny and charming, enters your mind. 

The picture Atsumu’s wavy hair and that smug smile of his. While the rest of his face is a little fuzzy in your mind, you vividly remember how his mouth quirk upwards and the electric buzz you felt from the sheer warmth of his eyes.

Atsumu has been on your mind a lot these days. And, as much as it’s been a distraction, it’s also been a welcome mental detour. 

Somehow, the very thought of him coaxes your own lips to relax into a smile. You sigh, tilting your head back in defeat. So this is what 3 years of loneliness can do to a person - how embarrassing.

But you can’t deny that he gives you something to look forward to - an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on. You two share a connection; there’s some common ground that hasn’t been dug up just yet. And, for whatever it’s worth, you want to keep digging until you figure it out.

As you smooth a moisturizer over your skin, you decide that you’ll wear something nice tonight. Maybe you’ll pick out an outfit you haven’t worn before and do your best to drown your shaky hands in the fabric of a long-sleeved shirt. If it goes well, maybe you’ll have found someone who actually likes you.

If it doesn’t work out, you can just drive back home and forget he ever existed. Simple as that.

But... 

You’d like to think that Atsumu could be just as sweet as he seems; assuming the worst about him would get you nowhere.

You continue to repeat that to yourself before you leave. That all you can do is hope it goes well. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

—

You rest your foot firmly on the brake and switch the gearshift so that your car is in park. You rub your eyes and double-check the location on your phone’s GPS. Back at your apartment, it looked like you would be arriving at a café near the park… but you’re not so sure anymore.

Did… did Atsumu _really_ send you _here?_

You never entertained the idea of him being a prankster… but if this was, perhaps, a practical joke? Well, you’re not above calling him and telling him to “fuck off.” There’s nothing stopping you from driving away and blocking his number right now.

Scrolling through the map application, you notice that you’re relatively close to several restaurants, so there is _that_. He’d promised you dinner and there’s an abundance of food within walking distance.

But you weren’t expecting to pull up to such a _secluded_ location. You shiver in your seat and grip the steering wheel. Does he realize just how scary it is to meet someone at a random place like this?

Whipping out your phone, you tap a quick message containing something along the lines of “why the hell did you send me to a park.” Your therapist would probably give you a high-five for being so straightforward.

You hit send and sink into your chair. 

A brief glance out your car window helps to settle your frayed nerves just a hair. 

It’s not quite as empty as you thought it was. The area is just… calm. Many couples stroll along the main path, hand-in-hand. Others are sat on picnic blankets, tucking their toes into the cool grass and chattering away. 

And, most comfortingly of all, it’s still bright outside. 

You thank the sun that it still rests above the horizon, drenching the trees tops and green grass with deep-honey hues. People and daylight mean safety. You’ve had to learn that after living alone for so long.

A text notification pings on your phone only seconds after messaging him. 

You’ll give him some credit. Atsumu is a timely texter. You’ve found yourself in more real-time texting conversations with him than almost anyone else you’ve met in Osaka. And it’s been how long since you met him? A few weeks? A month?

Atsumu’s text reassures you that you’re not at the wrong place.

At least the park was intentional, you nod to yourself. You’re doing your best to trust that he wouldn’t take you somewhere that would make you uncomfortable.

Another text informs you that he’s already seated on a bench near where you parked.

Your heart skips a beat and your head jolts upward, scanning the area. A hand also shoots up to clutch at your chest, gripping the fabric of your top. 

Yep. You’re still jumpy.

But this time, the shaky hands and pounding nerves are rooted in restlessness instead of fear… and maybe a little bit of excitement?

Suddenly, the park is far less frightening.

You step out of the car, wallet and keys in one hand, and smooth out your outfit with your free hand. The wind nips at you through the fabric of your clothes, but with the sunshine painting your skin, it isn’t too bad. 

Maybe bringing a coat would’ve been wiser than relying on this sweater to keep you warm… but it’s too late to think about that now.

Your eyes dart around and you trod through the grass and onto a graveled pathway. It crunches satisfyingly underneath your feet, but you can’t enjoy it when you’re so intent on finding him. With a few short strides, you’re quick to spot the back of someone’s head. A familiar head of blonde waves shines golden thanks to the setting sun. 

You’re almost entirely sure it’s Atsumu.

And as if he had sensed your presence, the man in question tilts a glance over his shoulder.

His face is blank until he catches your eye. 

An easy grin, one brighter than the stars, bursts into existence.

For someone so conventionally attractive, he sure looks excited to see little ole you. Raising your hand, you wave and send him a shy smile back.

He’s quick to jump to his feet and as he does, you’re quickly reminded of just how tall he is. Atsumu’s head matches the height of several tree branches. It makes you think that he’s probably walked into a number of things. Door headers, branches, signs that are hung a couple of inches too low… you’re sure he’s learned to duck and dodge over the years.

You wish you could ask him about that.

You blink.

That’s right. You _can_ ask him about that - you’ll do that later, though.

“Hey there.” He chuckles.

His voice… it’s _huskier_ than you’d remembered.

You spoke with him over the phone just yesterday to confirm that tonight was still happening, so why was his voice giving you chills now? It’s deep and smooth and, without the static from the phone audio, it’s actually kind of sexy.

Okay, you’ve _got_ to calm down.

“Hi,” you reply sweetly, tilting your head.

Should you hug him? Just keep standing there? Hopefully, he’s better at filling awkward silence than you are. You’re not bad at handling social situations, but it seems safer to wait for his cues.

Atsumu keeps his hands in his pockets, “Long time, no see.” 

It’s phrased as if you were both old friends reuniting after years of distance. It kind of feels that way too.

“I don’t actually think it’s been that long.” You raise an eyebrow, keeping a straight face.

“It’sa turn of phrase, sweetheart.”

_Sweetheart._

That word sounds so easy on his tongue, _damn it._

A few beats pass… and both of you break into grins once again.  


But before you can respond, and much to your confusion, Atsumu spins on his feels to face the pathway. The pebbles under his feet shift as he takes a few steps forward.

He turns his head to catch your eye, “Well? C’mon then, let’s walk and talk,” and juts an arm out.

You stare at him for a moment, confused. 

“Are ya gonna leave me hangin’? Atsumu tilts his head back, a coy smile on his lips as though whatever he’s trying to do is ridiculously obvious.

After a few moments of deep contemplation, realization dawns over your features. He’s extending his elbow out… for _you?_ To _hold onto?_

_Oh._

With a slight flush, you step forth and link arms with him. He grins down at you, perfectly resembling a fox you saw in a National Geographic magazine last week. This is a lot closer than you’d anticipated on getting with him; not that you’re complaining.

Although, for someone you’ve only met twice, you feel like you’ve known him for years. 

The few phone calls and those text conversations have given you some insight into his life, but they don’t explain why you two click so well in person. He’s illogically familiar.

You decide not to question the closeness and instead choose to spark a conversation. 

That should be easy enough; after all, he’d promised you dinner, and you were given directions to a park - you’re anything but questionless.

You lean into his side slightly and break the silence, “You smell good.” 

Considering he’s crossed that line with you already, you aren’t too worried about saying it back to him. 

“Thanks, I showered.” He smiles and shrugs as if to brush off your compliment, but you swear you see a fleeting blush on his cheeks.

“Thank God.” You sigh in mock relief, relaxing your shoulders.

He squints, clicking his tongue, “Okay, no need to tease. At least get to know a guy first,” but his voice is void of offense.

“So if I tease you, you won’t take me to dinner?” A curious tone rings in your voice.

“Oh, I will even if ya do. Where do ya think we’re walkin’ to?”

You snort, “Hopefully a restaurant?”

“Bull’s eye.” He winks.

Atsumu looks down at you and you can’t help but smile up at him. Your nerves had melted away like a popsicle under the blazing summer sun; all that’s left is a sweet, melty feeling that has you feeling a little too comfortable.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so trusting. Protecting yourself has been your number one goal since Kenji let you down…

But that doesn’t mean you can’t laugh or get to know Atsumu. 

It just means you need to keep your expectations in check. This may seem like a date, but until he says something, you won’t jump to conclusions. In the meantime, you just need to keep talking. Enjoy it while it lasts and laugh a little.

You nudge his side, “By the way…”

“Hm?”

“What’s with bringing me to a park?”

You’ve been dying to hear this explanation since you arrived. Sure, the atmosphere is perfect; fall weather is notorious for pleasant walks and colorful leaves. However, you’d like to hear his reasoning.

“I thought we could get to know each other better before stuffin’ our faces.”

You make a face, “Well, doesn’t that sound lovely. You sure have a way with words.” 

Atsumu is nothing if not blunt.

He pouts, eyes narrowing, “You gonna make fun of the way I talk now? I’ll have you know, I’ve been mocked enough to last me a life time. I ain’t all that sensitive anymore.”

You laugh and subconsciously tighten your hold on his arm. 

“Alright Mr. Not Sensitive, I won’t make fun of you anymore.”

If you were paying attention to his face, you might’ve seen another flush of pink… but your eyes are squinting from the sun and Atsumu is sure to pull himself together before you can notice it.

“But I do have some important questions for you,” You begin.

Those words are sure to spark fear into anybody. This is confirmed when his arm stiffens ever so slightly and your eyes crinkle in mischief.

He swallows, “Yeah, go for it.”

“Favorite color?”

Atsumu’s eyes flick down to yours, squinting. They seem to say, _“important, my ass.”_

He instantly loosens, “Easy. Red.” Confidence is clear in his tone.

You nod. You don’t have to know him well to know that the answer suits him. Atsumu is fiery and he’s burned bright in your mind since you met him. If anyone should be allowed to like red, it’s him.

“Favorite food?”

“Mmm…” He furrows his brows in deliberation, “ I gotta say fatty tuna. But my brother makes some killer onigiri, though. I think that’s a close second.”

Your brows shoot up, eyes widening. He’d never mentioned anything about his family before this.

“You have a brother?” You press, leaning in to study his face while trying not to trip over your own two feet.

“Technically, a twin. But I’m the older one...” He huffs, “...and the better lookin’ one.”

Your jaw drops. “I can’t believe you hadn’t mentioned him before this!” 

As an only child, you can only imagine what it’d be like to have a sibling, much less a twin.   


“Well,” Atsumu rolls his eyes at you, “He’s alright…”

It looks like he’s about to change the subject, but one glance at your face is all it takes for him to realize that you want to hear more. Your eyes are sparkling. Full of vibrant curiosity… how could he stop now?

You’re actually interested in him.

“We’re really close actually,” Atsumu clears his throat, straightening up a little. “I mean, he isn’t like me at all. He’s real’ calm in comparison. A great cook. Some people say he’s handsome - but he got the looks from me, y’know?”

You roll your eyes, keeping in stride with him. “Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

“He’s good with the ladies, smart, athletic...” He rambles on. “If he’d just slow down a little, he would probably be married by now...”

You just listen, fully invested in his words. 

It’s nice to hear about family - you haven’t seen your’s in a long time. 

The fondness in Atsumu’s expression seeps through his abbreviated words. 

He looks almost pained as he compliments his twin and amusement flickers in your eyes as you watch it all unfold. You hadn’t asked for a dating profile description of his brother, but you’re not about to shut him up.

“I bet you’d like him. Not as much as you’d like me, of course,” he smirks and your chest tightens. 

The butterflies you’d thought you’d left back in highschool seem to have dusted themselves off and started fluttering again.

“But, yeah. He’s a good guy.”

Atsumu’s free hand then runs through his hair, pushing the waves back. You can see a sudden onset of nerves on his face. He’s quick to hide it though.

“And, uh, just so you know… he may or may not own the restaurant I’m taking you to tonight.”

That’s enough for you plant your feet in place. Atsumu stops as well. 

He’s… taking you to his brother’s restaurant.

You gaze up at him, at a loss for words.

Is his brother going to be there? I mean, it is his place. But meeting his family? Out of the blue, like this? It’s all out of order. 

You can’t help but wonder if he’s ever going to give your racing heart a chance to settle.

“Is that too much?” Atsumu is quick to cut in. His voice isn’t gentle… but even with it’s roughness, you can hear something that resembles concern.

“A- ah, no! It’s fine!” You reassure him, “I… I’m happy to go.”

His shoulders drop down again and so do yours.

There’s no point in getting worked up about it. But it’s becoming clear that Atsumu isn’t a very conventional person. Nor is he daunted by sporadic plans. Next time, you’ll ask for a point-by-point itinerary, just to be safe.

Atsumu reveals the name of the restaurant, “Onigiri Miya,” and you find yourself asking more family-related questions as you two dawdle down the pathway…

Which naturally leads to conversations about high-school.

It turns out that he and his twin were on a volleyball team together. Which makes sense. He definitely has the muscle, the height, and the spunk to be an athlete. 

You know shit about the sport, but that doesn’t mean you don’t see the gleam in his eyes when he rattles off a story about one of his old games. It’s been a long time since you last listened to someone speak about something so passionately.

But there’s even more. 

You hear mentions of many boys’ names. 

There’s his brother, Osamu; he mentions their little spats and occasional fist fights. Although he makes sure to clarify that they’re both a lot more level headed nowadays. Next is Atsumu’s upperclassman, Kita; he’s someone Atsumu respects and fears with every inch of his being. Then there’s Suna, Omimi, Aran, and… too many others to count.

Games and nationals and several terms you can’t quite grasp swim through your head as you re-live some of Atsumu’s own memories with him.

His high-school years sound exciting, bright, and funny. Of course, those experiences would create the charming mess that is Atsumu Miya.

After padding under draping treetops, you both finally make it out of the park and onto the sidewalks. 

Restaurants and small shops line the streets and pedestrians cross in groups across the narrow roads. At this point, the sun is loosing its shine, sinking beneath the trees’ branches and ever-darkening buildings. But you, with your phone in your pocket and your arm in his, feel safe. 

Atsumu’s effortlessness and his blunt way of speaking really made for easy conversation. 

But before you can ask him if he still plays volleyball, you find yourself standing in front of a small, bright storefront: “Onigiri Miya.” The words are plastered on a wooden board in white, chalk paint. It’s sleek and cute - if you’d stumbled upon the shop before this, you’d have walked in of your volition.

“I’m thinkin’ I just talked your ear off the whole way here.” Atsumu sighs apologetically.

You shrug, “I guess that just means I’m a good listener.”

In all honestly, you’re glad he rambled. It got rid of your restlessness and calmed your racing thoughts.

He unlinks your arm from his and your side is now exposed to the cold air. It only just hits you how physical that walk had been. Even without a coat, having him at your side had kept you warm and cozy.

How long has it been since you were comfortably side-by-side with someone? It’s been months since you’d been around Kenji… years since you last slept with someone you actually liked… but when was the last time you held a _hand_ or wrapped your arm around someone else’s? 

Atsumu’s words cut into your thoughts, “You’re easy to talk to, but I wanna hear more about _you_ when we get inside.” 

And he’s holding the door open for you, one hand clasped around the handle and the other tucked casually into his pocket. You thank him… he didn’t give you the impression of being “gentlemanly” or _whatever_ that word meant, but you find the gesture to be sweet. 

As you step inside the small restaurant, your senses are overtaken by the smell of freshly cooked rice and an explosion of delicious seasonings. There are bar stools open at the front counter and metal chairs surrounding worn-down wooden tables. The atmosphere is homely and diner-like; as though, no matter how often you actually visited, you would be treated as a regular.

Someone calls out from the back, “C’mon in, I cleared the place out for y’all.”

The voice resembles Atsumu’s style of speech; gruff and straight to the point… but a little smoother. Then you realize what that voice had actually said. There’s nobody else here.

“Alright, we’ll make ourselves at home then. I can take your-”

He scans you for a jacket… that doesn’t exist.

“You didn’t bring a coat.” He says flatly.

You glance down at your outfit, grasping the edge of your sweater and feathering a thumb over its seam.

“I forgot one.” You admit, looking back up to him, “Why? Is that a problem?”

“Nah, I was just gonna offer to take it.”

You hadn’t noticed what he’d been wearing before this, but now that you’re under the soft lighting of the restaurant, you realize he’s dressed up a little. 

Atsumu removes a short, tan coat and places it onto the back of a chair. A black turtleneck sweater is revealed underneath. The fabric outlines his chest and arms in the most unfair way while the dark color pleasantly contrasts his lighter skin tone. 

How hadn’t you noticed how gut-wrenchingly attractive he was before this? 

With how fast things were moving and how comfortable you felt talking to him, you must’ve conveniently glossed over this fact. It’s not like you’d planned on getting to know him.

But now that you do? Well, it doesn’t hurt that he basically has the body of Chris Hemsworth. Atsumu’s definitely not some Walmart version of him though - this boy deserves his own brand of attractiveness.

You swallow hard as your eyes trail his body.

“Like whatcha see?”

You startle, shuffling backward. If you weren’t already out of your element, you sure are now. Caught red-handed (red-eyed?) staring at your not-date. 

“Awh, c’mon I’m joking - take a seat,” Atsumu pulls a chair out for you, cringing when it lets out a shrill squeak on the floor. The sound rings through the air and you find yourself laughing.

In a swift motion, you jump up and onto the chair.

He slides the chair back toward the bar counter, except this time you both expect the screeching of the chair’s legs. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard, but it’s perfect for loosening up any tightness in the airspace. This time, it’s his turn to chuckle.

He mutters out a quick, “Sorry,” but you just shake your head, amused.

Snagging his own chair, and this time lifting it off of the ground to avoid bursting another eardrum, Atsumu slides up next to you.

You lean on the counter, a hand propping up your cheek. “That was very smooth, Atsumu.”

“Thanks,” he rolls his eyes, “I try.”

“‘Tsumu? Smooth? Yeah, right,” that same voice travels from the kitchen to the front of the store.

Footsteps are soon to follow it and you’re greeted by Chris Hemsworth 2.0. Maybe you should refer to him as Liam Hemsworth? Nope, Osamu, you quickly decide, is also his own genre of attractive.

Although Osamu is dressed in a simple, black “Onigiri Miya” t-shirt and cap, he could probably be a Calvin Klein model. For someone who owns a restaurant, his muscle tone is absolute perfection - these brothers are really something. 

And their resemblance of each other, though twins, is almost uncanny. You thank some unknown force that hair-dye exists, because if you saw them from a distance, you may not be able to tell them apart.

“Ah, shaddup. You’re just sayin’ that cuz you’re jealous,” the blonde snorts.

“Jealous of what? Your shit attempts at flirtin’?”

“That’s below the belt, ‘Samu. Don’t be such an ass.”

 _‘Tsumu? ‘Samu? That’s cute,_ you chuckle to yourself. Of course, these guys would have nicknames for each other. It was common sense.

You sit back as they bicker, wondering who must’ve raised these 6-foot chaotic giants. You’d love to meet them just to give them a medal and a bouquet of flowers for putting up with them. They must’ve dealt with so much bullshit.

“I could say the same to you. Ya haven’t properly introduced me yet.” He nods his head toward you, cool-grey eyes warming up when they meet yours.

Your lips quirk into a smile and before you know it, you’ve introduced yourself. 

He copies your smile, though it’s much softer than your own, and begins his own little introduction; although you’re sure that, with all the information Atsumu has already listed off to you, you don’t really need one.

“I’m Miya Osamu, but that’s probably obvious by now,” he adjusts his cap, “Callin’ me Miya would be confusin’ for all of us, so just Osamu’s fine.”

He’s polite and carries himself confidently, but his voice is a little softer than Atsumu’s. Or, it is when he’s speaking to _you_. There’s a brotherly gentleness to his tone and it relaxes you instantly.

“Please keep in mind that I’m the better twin,” Atsumu adds, shooting daggers at his brother.

Osamu shoots them right back, but you don’t fail to notice the playful fondness behind their eyes. You can almost picture them as kids, with band-aids on their knees and mud on their clothes. They make it seem like being twins meant having a built-in best friend.

Their closeness is overwhelming. 

There’s a warmth in the atmosphere, and you’re positive that it’s not just because something’s cooking in the kitchen. It feels special, just being allowed to sit and watch them banter. 

And the fact that Atsumu is sharing this with you?

Well, you’re counting yourself _very_ lucky to be here right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am terribly sorry that this is so late :,,))
> 
> i took a much needed break for my mental health, so i'm not sorry about _that_ , but i don't want y'all to think that i'm not appreciative of every single comment, kudos, and read-through. you've all been so encouraging and i can't thank you enough for your interest.
> 
> updates should be more frequent from here on out <3 
> 
> also, i want to share the playlist that i've been writing this series to - you can find it [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1hFqjy9WYuZ4hARbavZqt1?si=1vAjXkmhRXWMhiCTXQgWYQ) read and listen along if you'd like to!
> 
> much love,  
> gracie


	7. where's the food 'Samu

“Here ya go.”

Osamu sets down a small cup of water, letting it clink against the bar’s granite surface. There’s no ice in it, but you can tell by the condensation on the glass that it’s cold. Osamu tosses a plastic straw toward you and it lands conveniently right next to your cup.

Throwing him a quick smile, you reach to take a sip but pause when you hear the click and gentle hiss of a drink can.

You’d know that sound _anywhere_.

It’s a reminder of street vending machines and roadside shops. It’s summer walks on hot pebbled pathways and after-class escapades with old high-school friends. 

But, just to be sure, you glance over to study the object in the hands of the man next to you.

Yes, you confirm, Miya Atsumu has _indeed_ brought a can of green tea into his brother’s restaurant. And, yes, you are _quite_ amused.

You choke down the rising laughter in your chest, though you can’t hide the small smile creeping onto your lips. This is the dorkiest thing you think you’ve ever seen on a _not_ -date before.

“Where the hell were you hiding that?” You tilt your head, leaning toward him to get a closer look at the drink.

“You’ll see.” Completely unfazed, he reaches for his coat, which hangs on the back of the chair, and digs into the pocket…

And, if what you’re seeing is true, he’s just fished out a second can. The paper covering the aluminum has a pink, floral print and reads, _“Matcha-”_ but his thumb covers the rest of the lettering.

“What? Did you want one?” Atsumu tilts his head and places the can next to your water glass.

You stare at it, curious about two things. 

The first thing being his _massive_ fucking pockets. They must be something of a void if he can fit two whole cans in the same pocket. Well, it’s more like you assume they were contained in a single pocket. You would’ve noticed if a sloshing, aluminum object were bumping up against your side as you two walked arm-in-arm.

The second thing that struck you is that he actually thought to bring two. Did he plan on drinking both? Was it originally for his brother? Or did he intend on offering you one right from the start? 

You do happen to like this brand of tea.

Atsumu leans back into his chair, tossing an arm over the back of the seat. “My friend tells me it’s good for digestion,” he explains and takes a sip.

“My digestion is doing just fine, thanks. You can keep it.” 

Your eyes crease in mirth. He has some interesting friends, that’s for sure. And why does he care about digestion? Is he constipated or something?

Yeah, that’s not something you should ask about.

“I’m gonna try not to imagine what else you could be hiding in those pockets,” you say, making a concerned face and pinching your eyebrows together.

Atsumu grimaces, shifting in his seat. “Did ya have to say it like that?” 

“I think I have every right to say it like that. You could be a freak for all I know.”

“Um, I think it’s entirely possible that _you’re_ the freak here.” He shoots right back at you through mock-judgmental eyes.

Your jaw drops in amused surprise. You shove his arm playfully, but his balance hardly wavers. He grins in response, golden eyes glimmering. Your hand lingers briefly as you mimic his smile, but you notice and drop it quickly.

“Gettin’ comfortable now aren’t we?”

A faint flush dances across your skin. Maybe you were being a little touchy… but flirting hasn’t been this fun in so long. Anyway, he was the one who had you walking arm-in-arm with him earlier.

That thought alone makes your heart jump.

You look away, grasping the straw in your glass and twirling it around. “You got all comfy first,” is all you can huff out.

“Well, yeah.” Atsumu places an elbow on the table and props his chin up with his hand, “I mean, this is a date isn’t it?” He takes another sip of his drink, acting as though what he said wasn’t headline news.

_Huh?_

So apparently this whole not-a-date but _possibly_ -a-date situation had an obvious answer… to Atsumu that is. It still felt about as clear as rocket science to you though.

“Is it?” The words flow from your lips before you can stop them.

He blinks. “Hm.” 

You swallow, “Is this a date?” 

He gestures a hand at the two of you, “I mean... I thought it was.”

Well, yes. You’re both sitting across from each other. Neither of you knows the other well. Atsumu had taken you to his brother’s restaurant.

Everything that’s happened in the past hour screams, “date.”

And, yet, it’s all too strange.

Suddenly the wooden barstool is much less comfortable. You readjust, crossing your dangling legs. You can hear every uneven as it leaves your body - hopefully his ears aren’t too keen.

Did you really change the atmosphere with just a few words?

Should you have assumed that this was a date from the beginning? But you were protecting yourself… 

Thank God Osamu is in the back right now. You don’t think you could handle someone else (especially your date’s brother) hearing this conversation. The embarrassment would be way too real.

“But if you’re not okay with it bein’ a date, then that’s okay.” Atsumu is quick to speak, straightening up in his chair. “I probably forgot to clarify…” He searches your gaze for any change in reaction.

Yeah, he’s probably not adept at these sorts of situations. But neither are you.

There’s a noticeable tint to his cheeks. You’re sure it must burn because your own face has already burst into flames. _Great_ , you’ve made him feel like he’s screwed up. 

Atsumu mumbles a quiet _“shit”_ under his breath, which would’ve found funny if it weren’t for your own pounding heartbeat.

 _Dammit_ , how can you salvage this? You might as well be fanning a flame at this point. If you weren’t careful, you could burn this entire opportunity to the ground. 

“Ah, that’s not what I mean,” You respond, waving your hands out in front of you, “I just- I don’t know, you never said anything about it being a date over text, so I just assumed it wasn’t. Not that I would mind it being one...”

If you keep talking, the words will only get more muddled. You clamp your mouth shut so as to not say anything ridiculous.

Suddenly, the blank wall opposite the blonde is very interesting. Maybe if you survive the next 5 minutes you’ll suggest that ‘Samu add some art pieces to soften the stark white paint. It might also make avoiding eye-contact a little easier.

Despite not wanting to face him, you can’t exactly ignore the man sitting an arm’s length away from you. You glance back to him, bracing yourself for a face wrought with confusion.

But Atsumu looks… amused? Relieved? The lines of worry on his forehead have smoothed back out.

Well, whatever emotion he’s conveying, it’s better than the ones you saw earlier.

“Alright, then how about you tell me whether _you_ want this to be a date or not?”

You bite your lip in thought. Partly because a male has just _respectfully_ asked you if you’d like to go on a date (a date you’re already _on_.) That, in itself, is a rare sight indeed. 

But mostly because he actually _wants_ to go on a date with _you_.

Did you really meet him only a month ago? Was he _ever_ a stranger to you?

He’s a little too friendly for that. But friendly isn’t the right word. Atsumu is understanding. And simple… but in a good way. Things are smooth like velvet when you’re around him.

You, who’s been shit out of luck over the past few years. You, who had to frantically accept a less than ideal job after moving away from your entire support system. You, who tried to abate loneliness with blind dates and Tinder matches... but only ever ended up shoving breadsticks in a bag before escaping through the backdoor of a mediocre restaurant.

After all the tears and life changes and dating apps and heartbreak, you finally have a choice that you can make by yourself without any serious repercussions.

And it’s a simple yes or no question.

“I’m gonna say, yeah. This is a date.”

A grin that could light up the city of Tokyo spreads across his face. You don’t know why he’s so happy, but it’s making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He grabs his drink, taking another sip.

Even you can feel the earnest smile on your face reaching your eyes. 

“So, can I ask ya somethin’?”

You sit up in silent anticipation. “Uh… sure.”

Atsumu clears his throat, looks away from you and runs a hand through the waves of his hair. Given Atsumu’s sudden display of nerves, from the outside, one might think that this man was either about to break up with you or propose marriage.

Thank God it couldn’t be either of those things. But your hands clasp at your thighs anyway.

“Why’d you want to see me again?”

You find yourself holding your breath, letting his question sink in. 

It’s a good question. An _important_ question. Why exactly are you here? With _him_?

You’re usually better about setting your intentions before you dive into something new. Plotting out big decisions has saved your ass a multitude of times.

But this opportunity fell into your lap at the most peculiar of times.

In all honesty, you didn’t give his request too much thought. Hell, you didn’t even ask him if he’d give you time to think about your decision. 

Thinking back, you really should’ve been way more careful… but you’re already here.

You lean back into your chair and meet his gaze head-on. 

“Do you want an honest answer? Or would you rather me make something up?”

“Oh, yeah I love bein’ lied to, go right ahead.” He throws you a look through squinted eyes.

You laugh, “I’m assuming that’s sarcasm.”

“And you’d be right.” Atsumu’s chin sinks back into his hand, awaiting your _honest_ answer.

You give yourself a moment to breathe, leaning back into your chair and relaxing your body.

It’s best to keep things brief - you’d hate to overwhelm him with your own life. And something tells you he has his own complicated shit to deal with. 

“I’ve had a rough few years here and my social life is about as interesting as a brick right now.” You glance over to him, “Plus you seemed a little weird. But fun.”

This is all true. But there’s so much more you’d _like_ to say.

Stuff like, 

_“You’re so easy to be around.”_

_“Your voice is comforting.”_

_“I’ve felt like shit but you’ve given me something good to think about.”_

_“I feel a little less lonely lately and I think it’s because of you.”_

But you know that would be overstepping some major boundaries. You’d play it cool and keep your thoughts to yourself for now.

“A bit blunt, but I’ll take it.” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, you’re pretty blunt yourself.” You fake a frown, but can’t suppress your smile for long.

“Okay, sure, I’m not the most tactful… but you should’ve seen me in high school.” He sighs, eyes growing fuzzy with memories. 

But he’s quick to snap back to the present.

You snort. “I bet you were a hoot.”

Osamu’s voice rings from the back, “He was a lot more than that.”

“ _Oi_ , shaddup, ‘Samu.” He lifts his head, calling back with a playful growl in his voice.

“I have video evidence, don’t tempt me to share it,” Osamu warns, but he gets back to business.

Your eyebrows raise. Now _that’d_ be fun to see.

He notices your curiosity but is quick to furrow his brows. “Oh, no, no. I want you to get to know me, but not _that_ well,” Atsumu says, slightly perturbed. 

“Not yet, at least.” He adds, after a few seconds.

Your eyes soften. 

That makes sense. Although, you hadn’t even expected him to show you the videos. You’d just wanted to tease him a little since that seems to be something he’s very comfortable with. But instead of continuing this part of the conversation, you divert to asking his question back to him.

“Well, I think it’s your turn to tell me why you asked me out.”

And you swear you must’ve just said something ridiculous because he looks hilariously surprised. Almost like a deer in headlights. Lots and lots of headlights with the brights on full blast.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d guess that he hadn’t even thought about it. That or he didn’t want to tell you.

Either way, you deserve to know at least this much. You wait with your hands placed patiently in your lap and indifference in your eyes.

—

Okay, so maybe he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box.

Atsumu _knows_ he has a good reason for asking you out… he really does. 

But it wasn’t the kind of reason one could eloquently verbalize. I mean, shit, what does Atsumu do that _is_ eloquent?

It was more of a gut feeling than anything else. He’s sure that if he told you that he wanted to date you based on his “instinct” that you’d laugh and promptly flee the restaurant like a prison escapee from the walls keeping them captive.

He pulls himself together because he’s sure you can sense his discomfort. He’s never been great at disguising his emotions - he’d only ever learned to mask them with nonchalance and angry outbursts… and that’s a no-go when it comes to the press. Atsumu had to drop those reactions like a hotcake.

“I…” he swallows but gives a wry smile, “Y’see… I live a bit of a complicated life.”

He scans your face like he’s searching for his next words within your eyes.

“Okay, now, don’t go telling me you’re wanted for some sort of federal crime.” You tease him as your lips brush against your straw, lightening the atmosphere in the process.

Atsumu’s lips open to let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in. “Ah, ya got me. That’s exactly what I was gonna say.” He responds dryly.

“That’s so sad. And I really thought this was going well too.” You hum and take a sip of water.

He clears his throat, loosening his shoulder with a stretch. For someone who’s lived most of his adult life in the limelight, he hasn’t had to talk about it much. People either know you’re famous or they don’t.

You’re so kind. You listen well. There’s something about you that he’s magnetized by. Something that continuously draws him back in.

So if you were to learn about his life and see him differently? It would be a door slamming into his face, sealing his fate to be a really fucking lonesome bachelor. Which is a funny concept until you are the lonely bachelor.

So what exactly _is_ he supposed to tell you?

Out of habit, his hand reaches for his hair… but he freezes before he can run his fingers through it.

The words come to him like a lone flower petal drifting to the ground. Soft and solemn.

He asked you out because his chest hasn’t ached like this in so long.

The warmth you’ve brought him in such a short time flares inside of him; why should those flames to die down anytime soon?

Because when’s the last time he spoke with somebody new and felt so normal? He’d never craved simple conversation back in high school. Even in his early 20’s, he’d just been searching for quick flings and easy getaways - those were easy to manage and feelings almost never got involved.

But being with you is like honey to hot, bitter tea. Like chowing down on a hot meal when he’s hungry.

No, it’s not easy to explain, but your presence is somehow satiating to his soul. Osamu even said that he’s been _“less of a dick”_ since he started talking with you, so that must count for something.

You don’t need to know all of that. That’d be really weird. But if you were already being honest with him (even if you hadn’t spilled your entire life’s story) then he can be honest with you. 

But with this groundbreaking realization comes the hard part. Saying it out loud. And while he’s sometimes smooth in terms of flirting, he’s absolute shit at explaining himself.

The words come out slow and awkward. “I’ve been havin’ a hard time with… _people_.” 

Okay, that’s not at all what he meant to say. 

There are a million things you could’ve gleaned from that useless sentence. _‘I have a hard time with people?’_ I mean, if _that_ doesn’t sound like a red flag, then what does?

“Oh, really?” Your eyes are wide and thoughtful and he swears he sees a glint of amusement flash through them. 

_Shit_ , this would be harder than he thought. 

“Well, dating in particular, but that’s because my life is out of wack.” He presses on, but it only makes it worse.

Maybe he should’ve taken that communications class back in high school. It would’ve saved his ass here and during interviews. 

You nod along, folding your arms. “Mhmm.”

“Okay, gimme a minute, this is comin’ out all wrong.”

“Take your time,” you smile and your eyes crinkle. “I’ll be here all night.” 

But is it possible to soften what he’s about to say? To give you something to chew on rather than a bunch of information to choke on?

Being candid with you is the only fair way to do this. If he isn’t straightforward with you, you could end up getting hurt. Even being with you here at his brother’s restaurant is a risk - he should’ve thought through that decision better too.

What’s done is done. He’s just got to tell you.

Atsumu sits up, bringing a hand to his chin and knitting his brows together.

“Listen, I’m not sure how to tell you this…”

You shift in your seat, mouth closed and eyes fixed on his. There’s a tension in your posture, but he tries not to let it deter him.

“But I’m...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhh it took me a while to get this chapter out, sorry! this one is more centered on the build-up ;) 
> 
> also, thank you for well over 100 subscribers! and additional thanks for all of the thoughtful comments, they mean the world to me :,,) i'll reply to them all when classwork calms down a bit! y'all are so lovely & i'm grateful for your support <3
> 
> here's the playlist that i've been writing this series to - you can find it [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1hFqjy9WYuZ4hARbavZqt1?si=1vAjXkmhRXWMhiCTXQgWYQ) read and listen along if you'd like to!

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to, please let me know any thoughts or critiques! and thank you for reading <3
> 
> \---  
> you can find me on tumblr: [@sneezefiction](https://sneezefiction.tumblr.com/)


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